


Rebirth

by Algernon84



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algernon84/pseuds/Algernon84
Summary: The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.





	1. The Crooked One

**Author's Note:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

"Their chief is Crom. He dwells on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die. Better to be silent than to call his attention to you; he will send you dooms, not fortune!"

~Robert E. Howard.

**Magh Slécht, Co. Cavan,** **October 27** **th,** **1997 A.D.**

The camera slowly panned across the grim landscape. A light but pervasive mist cast a grey haze across the green hills that seemed to stretch into infinity. Eventually the camera came to rest on an equally grim looking blond woman in an olive raincoat, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"'Let's go on a romantic getaway to Ireland' you said," the woman drawled in an American accent. "'Friendly locals and beautiful countryside' you said!"

Brendan lowered the camcorder. "Give it a rest, Margot."

"Have I mentioned you dragged me all the way across the Atlantic in the middle of an important homicide case?"

"Not in the past twenty minutes," Brendan muttered to himself. His wife rarely missed an opportunity to rub her big-shot Gargoyle Task-force job in his face. "Anyway, I thought you said Bluestone didn't want anything to do with it?"

"That's not the point-" Margot was cut off by a droning ring coming from somewhere beneath her coat.

She fished out a satellite phone that looked like an over-sized black Lego brick. "Yes… Sam?" Her eyebrows arched. "What do you mean 'the body's missing'?! Well, it didn't just get up and walk away!" she bellowed into the mouthpiece. "Sam… Sam? Damn it!"

Margot's eyes surveyed the landscape in distain. "I'm going to try to pick up the signal up there." She pointed to a nearby hill that seemed to loom over the rest. "Try not to wander off."

Brendan grunted something unintelligible as he fiddled with the camcorder's controls. He'd just figured out how to replay the recorder footage when clear wet droplets began splattering upon the tiny video screen.

"Terrific," he sighed as the cold drizzle began soaking into his overcoat. "Margot! I think we should head back to the car!"

No answer.

"Margot!" he called again, trudging gingerly up the great hill.

There was no sign of Margot upon its summit. Instead, there stood a circle of twelve crudely carved stone figures. They were vaguely humanoid but curiously malformed, as though the sculptor had only had humans described to them second or third hand. For the life of him, Brendan could not recall seeing them there a moment ago.

"Margot…?"

Brendan hovered at the edge of the stone circle as though some instinct was warning him not to go any further. Then he thought of what Margot would say if she could see him now and shook, stepping into the circle.

The soft turf yielded beneath Brendan's feet. The circle appeared empty of Margot or any other sign of life. He sighed and turned to leave, only to find himself confronted by a pair of hollow stone eye sockets.

Brendan screamed as the stone creature's thick granite fingers clamped down on his wrist with vice-like strength. He screamed and beat impotently with his free hand upon the thing's slab-like chest. He screamed as they both began slowly sinking into the soft turf.

Soon he stopped screaming altogether.

*

**Liscoo, Co. Donegal,** **October 31** **st**

_The poison burned like fire as it coursed through his veins. Already his charioteer and steed had fallen. For years, both had been his constant companions. As he gazed upon the heaped bodies of fallen southern dogs that surrounded him, he took grim comfort in the knowledge that his friends would not journey to the House of Donn alone this day._

_He found himself backing up against the ancient standing stone as the remaining southerners began to surround him. Their blades thirsted for his blood, their fear keeping them from claiming it. He loosed his leather belt, using it to tie himself upright to the standing stone. If Death came, he would meet her upon his feet._

_From a nearby hilltop, a figure glared down with disdain. She was clad rich purple robes, a silver pendent in the shape of an eight-pointed star hanging about her neck. Her hair was the colour of dark wine save for a single bone-white streak, her eyes green as a serpent's. She wielded a grim iron spear. She was the Queen of the South, the woman who had plunged all Éire into bloody war with a word._

_She Who Intoxicates._

_As the few last drops of life bled from him, he looked up to see a grey crow perched upon his shoulder. Its black eyes stared into his. They glinted with something between triumph and pity, as though it wanted him to know that all this could have been avoided._

" _You getting up?" it cawed._

"Whu… Whut?" Rory Dugan slurred as he sat up on the sofa.

"I said 'you getting up?'" Sean Dugan grumbled, looming over his son.

Rory rubbed the rime from his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost three in the afternoon," the elder Dugan grunted. "Rough night?"

"I don't want to talk 'bout it."

"Fair 'nuff." Rory's father shrugged before sitting back in his armchair and loosing himself in the morning paper. They both sat in absolute silence for at least ten minutes.

"Alright, you beat it outta me," Rory finally relented. "So, I noticed for the last couple of weeks' people have been mysteriously leaving the village in the dead o' night. Sneaking out into the woods and coming back just before dawn. I thought maybe some sorta evil forest spirit has been luring folks out in a trance to have its wicked way with 'em. So, last night, I decide to follow one of them."

"And?" Sean asked.

Rory sighed. "Turns out Jimmy Maguire from school's been running a cock-fighting ring out in the woods. I broke it up but-"

Sean suddenly dropped his paper, breaking into uproarious laughter.

"What's so bloody funny?" Rory demanded.

"Cú Chulainn, the Hero of Ulster reborn!" Sean wiped away a tear. "Liberator of Roosters!"

"Thanks, da'," Rory drawled, sinking back into the sofa. "Appreciate the support."

"Well, if it's a challenge yer looking…" Sean laid the paper out on the coffee table. Rory craned his neck to examine the article his father had pointed out.

Aᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴏᴜʀɪsᴛs ᴠᴀɴɪsʜ ɪɴ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀɪᴄ ᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴏғ Mᴀɢʜ Sʟéᴄʜᴛ, Cᴏ. Cᴀᴠᴀɴ.

*

**Magh Slécht**

"Come on, old girl…" Rory pleaded.

That night found him driving his father's old Lada through the countryside of Co. Cavan, just south of the Northern border. Twilight had already fallen as he eyed the fuel gauge fretfully, the glowing red needle hovering menacingly over a luminescent E. Still, all he had to do was make it just as far as the next town.

He had been crossing an old stone bridge when the engine began sputtering.

"Oh, you've got to be bloody kidding me!" Rory sighed as the engine fell silent and his vehicle coasted to a stop. "Well, guess I'm hoofing it from here."

He removed what appeared to be a long staff of yew-wood and a flashlight from the back seat, locked the car door behind him and began the long trek down the cold and deserted country road.

The landscape was lit only the twinkling of a thousand dim stars. On either side of the road, barren hills stretched off into the darkness. The softly undulating plain was broken only be the occasional standing stone or somber burial mounds.

Memories forgotten since early childhood bubbled up to the surface of his consciousness. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother sitting by his bedside, her face clouded and dimmed by time. He could almost hear her voice as she told him stories of the  _Tuatha Dé Danann_ , the Children of the Goddess.

The  _Tuatha_  had ruled the whole Island for countless generations, before the coming of the Sons of Scota. They eventually fled before the iron blades of their mortal conquerors, withdrawing to their strongholds in the deep places of the earth. There they took a new name…  _Aes Sídhe_.

The People of the Mounds.

Rory had never given those old stories much thought. That was before his ex-girlfriend had turned out the be a two-thousand-year-old evil fairy who tried to kill him, only to be saved by a giant monster dog who sailed off on a magic boat afterwards.

That sort of thing tended to make a person rethink their world view.

He'd been walking for about half an hour in the darkness before he noticed a cold grim edifice looming ahead of him. It was a grey stone church, standing vigil atop a particularly high hill.

Rory trudged up the gravel path to the darkly stained oaken doors. He knocked upon the heavy portal only for it to swing inwards under his hand.

"Well…" he mused. "I suppose that's as good an invitation as any."

Rory felt for the Holy Water font near the door, blessing himself with wetted fingers. The church interior was dark save for the glow of his own torch, which was caught by the many stained-glass windows

It was the one above the altar that drew his eye. It depicted a snow-bearded man in emerald bishop's robes, holding what looked like a fancy shepherd's crook. The bishop's foot was planted upon the head of a golden statue cast in the image of a serpent or dragon. A dozen vaguely human-like grey figures watched silently in the background.

"Fine workmanship, isn't it?"

Rory spun around, gripping his staff in a defensive stance, only to be greeted by the sight of an aged priest holding aloft a dimly flickering devotional candle. The priest was grey of hair and beard, his skin richly lined and care worn.

He chuckled warmly, "Sorry I frightened you, lad. I'm afraid we blew a fuse earlier."

"No, I'm sorry, Father…"

"Conn." The aged priest extended a gnarled hand.

"Rory." The Ulsterman took the hand gratefully before nodding back at the stained glass. "Is that St. Patrick?"

"Aye," the priest confirmed. "This very church was built upon the site of a golden devil-idol worshiped by the pagans since the time of High King Eremon, watched over by twelve lesser stone images. The pagans believed their Golden God would bless them with bounty in milk and grain."

"What did the god get out of it?"

"The blood of their first born," the priest whispered. "To be offered every Samhain. So it was for century upon century, until the day when an escaped slave willingly returned to the land of his oppressors to spread the Word of a new god."

"Patrick?"

The priest nodded. "Patrick came to Magh Slécht, he was so enraged by the atrocities committed in the Golden God's name that he cast down the great idol with his bare hands. The demon that dwelt within was cast out and its twelve stone watchers sank back into the earth from whence they came. At least… that's one version of the story."

"Ya sound skeptical, Father," said Rory. "Didn't think there was much call for that in yer line o' work?"

The Priest barked a laugh. "I have a hard-enough time believing in just the one deity sometimes, lad. Oh, I'm sure this church was built upon a site of pre-Christian worship but so were half the churches in Europe. I doubt they ever sacrificed anything more interesting than the odd sheep. As for Patrick, maybe he founded this church, or perhaps it was some poor missionary who's name only God remembers. Either way, I doubt it was as dramatic as all that."

The priest let out a heavy, weary. "If there's one thing I've learned in my long life, it's that history is a grim grey affair. There are no heroes and villains, only poor lost souls slowly ground beneath the cold millstone of time."

They were both silent for a long moment after that.

"I almost forgot," Rory finally piped up. "Can I use your phone? My car ran out of fuel."

"Really? Where?"

"By the old bridge, 'bout two miles up the road."

"I'm afraid my phone is out of service at the moment," The priest stroked his grey beard thoughtfully. "But I do keep a spare can of petrol in the shed out back, for emergencies you understand?"

Rory watched as the ancient priest made his way to the church doors. Something had nagged at him all throughout the old tale, something… familiar.

"Father?" he called out.

"Yes?" the old priest called back.

"This devil-god-idol-thingie, did it have a name?"

"Why yes," the priest answered. "They called it Crom-Cruach."

*

Rory hurriedly thanked Father Conn before rushing back into the night, a fresh can of petrol in hand and mind racing. Crom-Cruach, the Death Worm, the Crooked One; it couldn't be a coincidence. He been lucky to survive his last battle with that monstrosity and even then, he had not faced alone. Now he only had his wits and an old stick to rely upon.

Rory didn't have much fear of death. Well, no more than the next fella at least. No, if he was honest with himself, what Rory feared was failure. He was afraid of not measuring up, of reaching for the stars only to fall flat on his face. Maybe that's why he'd never tried to make much of himself before the night he met the Great Beast.

But he'd made his decision the night he first challenged Crom, and there was no turning back now.

A thin mist had begun to coat the landscape, diffusing the already dim starlight. Rory wondered if it might be safer to turn back and ask if Father Conn if he could kip in the church overnight.

He'd been on the verge of turning back, when he spotted the shape of his dad's old Lada looming out of the fog. That wasn't all he saw.

A slim figure clad in a black hoodie leaned over the bonnet, seemingly tampering with the windshield.

"Oi!" Rory cried. "What are ya doing to me bloody car?"

The hooded figure turned in surprise, allowing Rory to catch just a glimpse of the red scarf that concealed the lower of half of their face, before running for the bridge and leaping over the edge.

Rory attempted to give chase but a look over the edge of the bridge revealed no sign of his quarry in the shallow brook below. Going after them in the rapidly thickening fog didn't seem like a promising prospect.

He returned to his car, finding a folded note pinned under the windshield wiper. He unfolded the paper to reveal a messaged written in a vaguely familiar hand…

_Don't trust the priest._

Rory was still puzzling this when he heard a soft crackling sound, like crumbling stone, coming from behind him. He had no time to turn before a rocky fist slammed into the side of his skull. Rory's flashlight and staff slipped from his hands as he fell to his knees, vision blurring as blood from a head wound trickled into his eyes. He tried to reach for the fallen staff, but the strength was rapidly seeping from his arms.

The last thing Rory Dugan saw before oblivion claimed him was a misshapen stone figure staring down at him, its face blank save for two hollow eye sockets.

*

Rory groaned as he hit the hard-packed dirt floor, consciousness just starting to return to him. He looked up to see the silent form of the stone watcher melting into a rocky cave wall as though it was made of sea-foam.

Rory lurched after the thing, only to slam against the hard rock. Looking up revealed himself to be trapped at the bottom of a dark circular pit, a disk of dim light hovering far above. He began slowly feeling his way about the stone wall in search of an opening or a secret passage or... anything really.

"It's no use," an American accented voice whispered from the darkness. "There's no way out."

"Quiet, Brendan!" another hissed. "He's probably working for that lunatic!"

"That makes no sense!"

"He's a lunatic! It doesn't have to make sense!"

"I take it you two are the missing tourists?" Rory interjected, squinting to make out twin figures in the darkness.

"And you are?" the second voice drawled.

"I'm… a friend," Rory answered. "I came to rescue the two of you."

"And a marvelous job you're doing!"

"It's a work in progress," Rory quipped as he continued feeling his way around the wall of the pit. He soon found himself stumbling over a thick bedding of straw piled up to one side of the pit. Upon it sat a large smooth stone oval, almost like an…

_A winged figure, crowned with great stag-like antlers, stood before him. The Antlered One held out the egg, a gift and sacred trust._

Rory shook his head as the memory faded. "Where did this come from?" he asked.

"Wuh… we don't know," the first voice answered. "It was just there the last time we woke up."

"'Twas a gift," a new yet familiar voice spoke from above. "From Crom."

Rory stared up in shock at the grim figure leaning over the edge of the pit. "Father Conn?"

"It's him!" the second voice bellowed. "He's the lunatic who sent those stone… things after us!"

"Is that true?" Rory demanded, glaring at the priest.

"I am sorry, lad," the old priest spoke with mock sympathy. "But my Lord is a rapacious deity."

"Why are you even doing this?" Rory yelled in frustration.

The priest's eye seemed to drift off, as though staring back through the years.

"I remember when the Great Hunger first came to this parish. The crops rotting in the very earth before they were even harvested, children starving in ditches, families torn apart and condemned to the work houses."

"The Great Hunger?" Rory mused aloud, recalling old history lessons. "You mean the Famine of 1842? But… that was almost a hundred and fifty years ago?"

"I prayed to God and his Holy Mother, to every Saint I could name, only to be met with damning silence. Until the night an answer to my prayers finally came, not from Heaven above but from beneath the mounds... where the Old Folk dwelt."

"Crom?" Rory whispered.

"We made the ancient pact; a blood-sacrifice every Samhain in exchange for prosperity for the parish and eternal life for His High-Priest." Conn chuckled darkly as he rubbed his withered face. "I suppose I should held out for eternal youth?"

"And you have the gall to parade around in that collar?" Rory snapped.

"All gods demand sacrifice, lad. Mine and yours are hardly any different in that regard." The old priest checked his watch. "Speaking of which, I advise making your peace with him within the next hour or so."

And without another word, the old man took his leave of Crom's "offerings".

"Oh my God…" the first voice whimpered. "He's gonna kill us! HE'S GONNA-"

Something made a sharp smacking sound in the darkness. "Get a hold of yourself, Brendan! You're being hysterical!"

"YOU'RE HYSTERICAL!"

"BOTH of ye, just calm down while I-OOWH!" Something struck Rory's still aching head from above before clattering to the floor. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a dark hooded figure hastily withdrawing from the edge of opening above.

"Whu… what was that that?" the first voice asked.

"I'm not sure but…" Rory felt around the cave floor til his fingers came upon the familiar feel of smooth ancient yew-wood. "Ya might want to stand back."

Rory struck the yew staff against the floor and instantly the entire pit was filled with blinding light. A light which dimmed only slightly to reveal a hulking warrior standing in place of Rory Dugan, clad in golden helm and crimson cloak. In one hand, he held a golden rectangular shield. The other wielding a radiant spear forged of what looked like solidified sunlight.

Cú Chulainn, Hero of Ulster, surveyed the small pit now lit by  _Gáe Bolga's_  radiance. A brunet man in a brown raincoat and a blond woman in an olive-green one huddled to one side, both their mouths hanging agape. On the other side, lay what Cú now knew with certainty to be a gargoyle egg.

Cú unhooked his cloak, wrapping in gently around the egg as he fashioned it into a makeshift sling to carry the precious cargo upon his back.

"Gather your things," Cú said, turning to the two tourists. "We're going."

"Going where?" the woman asked.

Cú just smiled as he eyed the patch of rock where the stone watcher had disappeared, smiled and cracked his knuckles.

*

"Father" Conn stood chanting before a vast underground pool. Fragments of bone crumbled beneath his feet. Some were thousands of years old. Others were far more recent. Twelve stone watchers stood at attention along the edge of the vast stone cavern. Within the pool itself, black oily waters churned as though agitated by some immense mass moving far below the surface.

"Bring the sacrifices," the old priest commanded the nearest pair of watchers. "Crom hungers."

The two watchers had barely begun to melt to the cavern wall when it suddenly exploded outward in a burst of searing light, sending shattered chunks of both stone figures flying across the room.

A figure clad in crimson cloak and golden helm strode through the dust into the chamber, carrying a shimmering beam of light in his hand and Crom's "gift" slung over his back. The two American "offerings" cowered behind him. The warrior surveyed the chamber at a glance, spotting the weathered stone stairs leading up to the false church above.

"That way!" the warrior bellowed at his cowering charges. "I'll cover you!"

The pair nodded meekly before dashing for their escape.

"Who dares disturb the sacred rites of Crom!?" the old priest snarled.

"The Hound of Culann!" the warrior bellowed. "And tonight, I hound you, false priest!"

The priest's mouth hung agape for a moment before twisting into a crooked leer. "We'll catch up with the yanks later. This one will make a more than ample tribute to Crom."

The stone watchers lurched towards their prey. Cú Chulainn hurled his shining spear, shattering at least two of the watchers. He held his hand aloft as the spear flew back into his grip of its own power. One of the remaining watchers flanking him chose this moment to strike, leaping upon the Hero of Ulster to rake his chest with jagged rocky talons.

Cú recoiled as the thing's talons tore through flesh, and the crimson sling holding the rescued egg. He watched in horror as the egg swiftly rolled towards the lip of the dark pool. It balanced precariously on the very edge for just a moment, before falling into the ebon waters below.

"NOOO!" Cú screamed as his fist shattered the blank face of the stone watcher pinning him. He hurled its inert weight aside before fastening his shining spear to his back by his thick leather belt and dashing for the pool.

Within moments, Cú had dived beneath the oily surface.

Conn stood by the edge of the pool, watching its dark surface churn like liquid obsidian. "Well… I suppose that will do."

*

The oily water stung Cú's eyes and nostrils as continued to swim ever downwards, his mouth screwed tight. He'd already made the mistake of swallowing a mouthful of dark liquid that tasted more like cold blood and forgotten tears than any natural waters.

Even with  _Gáe Bolga's_  piercing light, Cú could barely see more than a few feet ahead of his own nose as his hands sifted through the slime and silt at the bottom of the watery pit. Had he not been underwater, he would have breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the smooth stony surface of the egg beneath his fingers.

It was then that two immense eyes, burning with green eldritch light, opened in the darkness before Cú. And the darkness itself seemed to move in the waters about him, like the coils of some vast unseen serpent. He drew  _Gáe Bolga_  with one hand as he cradled the egg close with the other. The Spear of Light flared and he finally saw it.

Perhaps it was the distorting effect of the murky water that mad the thing seem even larger than more grotesque than Cú remembered. It was like some nightmare amalgamation of eel, serpent and gigantic maggot. A strange spiked golden grill was welded over the thing's slavering maw, making Cú think of the cow-catcher of an old-fashioned locomotive. It was the Lord of the Mound, the God of Sacrifice and Slaughter, Death Incarnate...

Crom-Cruach.

Cú only had a split second to register all this before the monster struck.

*

"Father" Conn watched as the churning waters slowly stilled until the black surface was as smooth as glass.

"Find the Americans," he spoke to the nearest intact watcher. "They cannot be allowed to-"

The old priest covered his eyes as the black pool suddenly erupted like a geyser, spraying oily fluid across the entire cavern. He lowered his arm to reveal the sight of his god trashing wildly in the water. Upon the Lord of the Mound's insectile head, rode the Hound of Culann. The warrior's thighs wrapped about great Crom's armoured neck like a vice.

"BLASPHEMER!" the old priest howled.

The Cú's spear stabbed again and again at the beast's armor-plated neck, desperate to find any chink in its defenses. So, absorbed in the struggle was he, that he didn't seem notice the Death-Worm's tail rising out of the water or the scimitar like barb upon its end.

The priest smiled wickedly as the barb struck. Then he gasped as it only barely grazed the warrior. Cú turned to see the barb draw back again. He gripped the egg closer, never taking his eye off the deadly stinger. Then it struck a final time.

Cú waited until the last minute before leaping once more into the dark waters.

"NOOO!" the priest screamed as the barb sunk deep into the Death Worm's own neck. Emerald flames burst forth from the chinks of the monsters armour, before engulfing the entire chamber in an explosion of eldritch energy.

Cú weakly dragged himself ashore, still clutching the egg tightly. He wiped the bilge from his eyes. The old priest and at least a dozen watchers surrounded him. He staggered to his feet, legs numb, knees aching.

"Kill him!" the priest cried as he pointed a bony finger that trembled in rage.

The watchers made no response.

"KILL HIM!" he shrieked again.

The watchers made no move against Cú, but instead began to sink slowly into the earth below.

"No… NO!" the priest whispered in horror. His looked down at his still shaking hands, flesh now turning grey and powdery. "You… YOU DID THIS!" the priest practically howled.

Cú watched in horror as the thing that had once been a man of God lurched towards him, flesh crumbling with every step. The Hero of Ulster braced himself for battle but by the time his foe had closed the gap, all that was left was a moldering skeleton clad in tattered black vestment. The thing collapsed at his feet.

One last set of bones for the millennia old pile.

*

**November 1** **st**

Rory swathed the grey stone egg in an old blanket before carefully nestling it within the Lada's trunk.

"Well, little fella, looks like yer coming with me," he cooed, affectionately patting the precious bundle. "At least until I figure out where ye came from."

He closed the trunk slowly and gently before taking one last moment to survey the landscape. The cold pale light of dawn had begun to cut through the grey mists, allowing Rory his first clear view of the rolling green hills and grim standing stones that dotted the landscape.

He couldn't deny that the land was beautiful. Just as he could not deny that hardly an inch of it had not been soaked in blood at some point in the island's long history.

Something caught his eye. A lone figure stood by a large stone dolmen, watching him. She weas clad in a black hoodie, the lower half of her face covered by a scarlet scarf. From beneath the black hood crept a single lock of pink dyed hair.

"It can't be…" Rory whispered before dashing after her. "HEY! Hey, you!"

She stepped out of sight behind the dolmen. By the time Rory reached it, there was no sign of her.

"Molly?" he whispered.

*

**Oberon's Palace, Avalon,** **November 10th**

A hastily dressed Princess Katharine raced through the palace corridors, the Guardian Tom at her side, rushing to the castle's cellar where the doors leading down the clan's rookery hung open on their hinges. Below, they found a single male gargoyle with dusky red skin, thin-beaked and bald. He knelt upon the cold dirt floor, eyes closed in meditation. In one hand, he held an old gnarled staff that had once belonged to Avalon's Magus. The other hand was splayed out on damp earth floor.

"Azrael," Katharine spoke. "What in God's name happened here?"

"Princess," the grey gargoyle spoke softly. "Shorty after awakening, we heard Gathelus and Scota howling from the Rookery. We found the chamber empty and both frantically sniffing and clawing at every nook and cranny."

"The egg?" Katharine asked.

"No trace, I'm afraid," Azrael answered.

Tom's fist impacted the stone wall.

"Gabriel took the beasts and the rest of the Clan to search the island," Azrael continued. "I offered to remain here to see what I could find."

"And?"

Azrael stroked his beak thoughtfully. "It is difficult to discern from the ambient magics of the Island, especially since the Gathering but…"

"But…" Katharine spoke, a dangerous edge in her voice.

"One of the Children was in this chamber… very recently."

Katharine's eyes hardened as she turned to stride out of the chamber.

"Where are you goin'?" Tom asked.

"I would have words with Lord Oberon," she answered coldly.

_**To be Continued...** _


	2. Auld Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

"Nay, I wish for no warfare, on my word I tell thee!

Here about on these benches are but beardless

children.

Were I hasped in armour on a high charger,

There is no man here to match me – their might is so

feeble

And so I crave in this court only a Christmas pastime,

since it is Yule and New Year, and you are young here

and merry."

~ _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_

**Oberon's Palace, Avalon,** **December 6th, 1997 A.D.**

"We will ask once more," Lord Oberon spoke, his eyes flashing with emerald fire. "Do you know anything about the theft of the beast egg from  _Our_  Honor Guard's rookery?"

Princess Katharine stood by one side of Lord Oberon's throne. On the other stood the gargoyle Gabriel, Captain of the Honor Guard. They both eyed the object of Lord Oberon's interrogations suspiciously.

The creature appeared to be a man from the neck down, clad in a simple linen kilt, lanky with dark red skin. Above the neck, nothing was recognizable as human, or any animal Katharine could name. His snout was vaguely wolf-like but curved down like a beak, and his ears were oddly rectangular.

"Lord Oberon," the man-beast spoke, his strange ears flattened obsequiously against his head. "Why would I want to steal a  _sha_  egg? I like  _shas_!"

"Obviously, that's  _why_  you stole it, Set," a second figure spoke, this one bearing the head of a falcon and crowned with what looked to Katharine like an ornate bishop's mitre. "Maybe you wanted a pet… or another avatar?"

"I don't recall our most gracious Lord asking your opinion, Horus?" the one called Set snapped back.

The falcon god's eyes narrowed. "Give me five minutes, my Lord, and I'll beat a confession out the aardvark."

"Ha!" Set barked. "I'd like to see you try, beak-face!"

Horus' right and left eye suddenly blazed with golden and silver light respectively. "You want to step into the courtyard, lettuce-breath?"

"Why bother?" Set snarled, his own eyes flaring crimson. "Let's do this right here, right now!"

"ENOUGH!" Lord Oberon bellowed, lightning arcing across the room.

The two godlings jumped back from the Lord of the Third Race, instantly cowed.

Silence filled the throne room for long tense moments, until three tendrils of mist snaked across the marble floor before coalescing into the forms of three eerily silent women in pale white gowns. Each was virtually identical save for the colors of their hair, shining gold, raven black and silver white respectively.

Lord Oberon inhaled deeply, before casting a cold eye upon Horus and Set. "You are both dismissed… for now."

"Yes, my Lord," the two godlings muttered sheepishly before departing in a flash of golden light and swirl of red sand respectively.

Lord Oberon turned his attention towards the Weird Sisters. "Report."

"All your Children are accounted for, my Lord," the golden-haired one spoke in a sing-song voice.

"All, that is…" the raven-haired one began.

"…save one," the silver-haired one concluded.

Lord Oberon's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"The Banshee," spoke the golden-haired sister.

"We will shall retrieve her at once with your leave, my Lord…" said the silver-haired one.

"And attempt to rescue your Honor Guard's missing egg, of course," the raven-haired sister added. "If be not too late." She glanced toward the two mortals, the faintest trace of a vindictive smile on her lips.

Katharine and Gabriel eyed each other anxiously.

"My Lord, if I may?" Katharine interject. "Perhaps it would be best to entrust this task to someone more… discreet?"

Lord Oberon arched an eyebrow. "Who would you suggest, Princess?"

"I will go, my Lord," Gabriel interjected. "I will seek out the Banshee!"

"And where would you begin looking, Captain?" Oberon asked.

"I…" the gargoyle stalled.

The Weird Sisters gave each other subtle smiles.

"Still…" Oberon spoke. "Perhaps this task does require a more… steady hand."

The Lord of Avalon cast his hand over the silvered mirror that stood in the corner of the throne room. The surface shimmered, revealing the image of a ruined chapel, overgrown with a thick rich layer of ivy.

"Sir Bercilak, We have need of thee."

Katharine, Gabriel and the Weird Sisters all took a step back as a blinding emerald light blazed forth from the enchanted mirror. As it dimmed, their stinging eyes began to make out the figure that now knelt before Lord Oberon.

He was a giant. Even kneeling, he remained at eye level with the Lord of the Third Race. He was clad from head to foot entirely in ornate viridian armor, etched with images of holly leaves. Around his waist was tied a pale green sash. In his hand, he held an executioner's ax. Its handle was carved of dark oak and its blade forged from grim grey iron.

"My Lord…" The Green Knight spoke with a voice that rumbled like the creaking of ancient trees. "Command me."

*

**Belfast, Northern Ireland, December 31st**

Bridget Malone took one last drag on her cigarette before crushing it angrily under her combat boot. She took a moment to survey the docks surrounding her, bathing in the blood-red light of the setting sun. The cranes colloquially known as "Samson and Goliath" towered overhead. The place appeared totally abandoned save for half dozen of her own "comrades" who stood watch at strategic locations. Her grip tightened on the brief case cuffed to her left hand.

"Ms. Malone?" a voice spoke.

Bridget turned, her hand instinctively reaching for the weapon holstered under her duster. She was greeted by the sight of a bespectacled Japanese woman in a pale-blue business suit.

"You Shirakawa?" Bridget asked brusquely.

"I'm honored to meet you face to face at last," the Japanese woman bowed slightly before gesturing to a nearby warehouse. "If you'll follow me."

A black crow perched upon a nearby forklift, eyeing both women as they entered by a side door.

Ms. Shirakawa led Bridget to an assortment of crates assembled in a shadowed corner. She pulled back one of the lids to reveal dozens of high powered particle-rifles nestled in protective foam.

Bridget took one of the rifles in hand, testing its weight. It's energy cells began to hum as she unlocked the safety. She felt the destructive power coiled within the weapon, eager to be released. It felt good.

"I must admit, Ms. Malone, my employer and I were surprised when you contacted us," Ms. Shirakawa opined. "It was our understanding that your… organisation's leadership had declared a ceasefire?"

"Our 'leadership' are nothing but a pack of craven politicians," Bridget spat. "I'll cease my fire after the last Tan bastard on Irish soil is dead, and not one second before."

"Your politics are none of our business, naturally," Ms Shirakawa shrugged. "Provided you have the payment we agreed upon?"

"That depends," Bridget laid down the weapon and brandished the briefcase still cuffed to her wrist. "You have my 'custom' job?"

"Of course," Ms. Shirakawa gestured to rectangular crate that was standing upright, a crowbar propped up against it.

Bridget hefted the crowbar, prying loose a panel from the upright crate. What she saw within brought a smile to her face. She let her hand slowly carress the cold metallic surface.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

A gunshot echoed outside.

"Catch!" Bridget uncuffed the briefcase and tossed it to Ms. Shirakawa. "You better get out of here."

The Japanese woman opened the case, tallying its contents at a glance.

"That should do. A pleasure, Ms. Malone." She bowed before withdrawing to an exit near the warehouse's rear.

Bridget eyed her latest purchase greedily before tossing aside her duster.

*

Rory Dugan had come to Belfast hunting a lead. Molly had once casually mentioned having family in the city. After three nights of sleeping in his dad's old Lada and hitting the town's more… colorful party spots, he'd failed to find anyone who'd so much as heard of her. Probably another lie. Not the first or worst by any stretch… but still.

He'd been walking back to his car just before sunset, ready to head back across the border to Liscoo, when he'd noticed about half dozen shady looking characters slip into the docks. The sensible thing to do would be to go home and mind his own business, but Rory have never been the sensible sort.

Which is why Cú Chulainn now found himself pinned behind a metal shipping container the size of a small bungalow as the last of the gunmen peppered him with a steady stream of bullets.

"How do I get myself into these bloody things?" he muttered to himself. He couldn't stay huddled behind the container forever, and he couldn't take it with him. Or could he?

Cú dug his fingers into the metal of the container before hefting it off the ground and charging forward with a lusty Gaelic battle-cry.

The gunman screamed as he leaped clear of the metal juggernaut, sending his side arm clattering across the tarmac. He scrambled towards the weapon before it was crushed under Cú's heavy armoured boot. Cú lifted his now unarmed attacker by the scruff of his neck, letting his feet dangle helplessly over the ground.

"Alright, me aul' mucker," Cú spoke cheerily. "You want to tell me what this was all about?"

The sound of an explosion suddenly rocked the docks as shrapnel from the door of the adjacent warehouse was sent hurtling in all directions. Cú used his bulk to shield the gunman from the flying debris. After the worst had passed, Cú took a piece of steel and casually wrapped it around both his attacker and a nearby lamp post with his bare hands.

"Stay!" Cú wagged his finger before rushing into the burning remains of the warehouse. The smoke stung his eyes, blurring his vision. Something moved in the grey swirl before him. "Hello," he coughed. "Anyone in here?"

A response came in the form of something heavy and metallic striking Cú's chest with all the force of a jack-hammer. He found himself skidding across the tarmac outside. He staggered to his feet just in time to see his attacker striding confidently out of the burning wreckage.

It was a towering figure clad head to foot in blood-red exo-armor, its servos whirring with every step. The metal face-plate slid back to reveal a woman's face, her eyes cold and hard.

"And what are you supposed to be?" she sneered.

"I could ask you the same question," Cú answered, drawing his shining spear,  _Gáe Bolga_.

"As far as your concerned, laddie," she spoke, drawing what looked to Cú like a medieval mace. She flipped a switch on the insulated handle, causing lighting to arc all about the weapon's head. "I'm the First Horseman of the bloody Apocalypse!" She charged forward with a snarl of rage, her weapon swinging directly at Cú's head.

The Hero of Ulster recoiled, barely avoiding decapitation as the electrified mace head swung close enough for him to feel the air practically sizzling in his face. He responded by thrusting forward with  _Gáe Bolga_ , only for his attacker to parry with her own weapon and hook her foot under his ankle; literally sweeping him off his feet.

Cú tried to rise only to feel an exo-armored boot come down hard on his chest. The red woman hefted her electro-mace high with both hands. "One less traitor!"

Before she could crush his skull, a crow swooped seemingly from nowhere. It made directly for the woman's face. She screamed as talons dug into her exposed flesh, letting the electro-mace clatter to the ground.

Cú instinctively swept up the still electrified mace and struck the red woman's metal clad shin. She convulsed as lightning arced up and down her armored form, before collapsing into unconsciousness upon the tarmac.

Cú staggered over to hid fallen foe. Her breathing was mercifully steady as he tore a strip from his cloak to bind the gaping bloody wound where her left eye was a moment ago. He struck  _Gáe Bolga_  against the ground, reverting to mortal form, the better to slip away unnoticed. He turned only to be confronted by the bloody-taloned crow eyeing him cryptically, a slim gold band wrapped around its beak.

"Nice birdie…" Rory spoke slowly, raising his staff.

The crow began glowing an eerily green. The eldritch energy expanded and reshaped itself before finally coalescing into the form of a young woman wearing a black hoodie. A scarlet scarf was wrapped around the lower half of her face, yet there was no mistaking who she was.

"Molly…?" Rory whispered in shock.

Sirens began wailing in the distance, rapidly drawing closer. Molly signaled Rory to follow before darting into the shadows between two shipping crates. He hesitated before reluctantly giving chase.

"Great," he sighed. "Just like old times."

*

**Manhattan, New York**

He entered the smoky Irish pub, taking a moment to savor the scents of stale tobacco and cheap bear.  _Fairy Tale of New York_  wafted thinly over a sound system that was antiquated a decade ago. He was a tall barrel-chested figure of a man, bearing a wild bright-red beard and clad in a thick dark-green overcoat.

"Roy…?" a voice hailed. "Roy McDare?"

The Green Man's head turned toward the bar. "Meaney, you old rascal!" he bellowed jubilantly. "A pint of your finest rat piss, if you please?"

"What brings ya back to the Big Apple, Roy?" Meaney asked as he pulled a pint of lager. "I thought you were moving back to the Old Country? Said it was a 'family commitment'?"

"Just passing through, I'm afraid. On a bit o' a business trip." He downed half the pint in one gulp before exhaling with satisfaction. "You haven't seen Molly 'bout, have ye?"

Meaney barked out a laugh. "You'll not be seeing that one 'round here for a while, me thinks."

The Green Man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It happened a couple nights after you headed off. She was sittin' right there when three policewomen came in asking if she could 'step outside for a moment'. That was half a bloody year ago, and I haven't seen or heard from her since. Always knew that one would come to a bad end."

"Shame…" the Green Man spoke sadly before downing the last of his lager, slapping a fistful of notes and loose change down on the bar. "Take care o' yerself, Meaney."

"Same to you, Roy," Meaney replied.

The Green Man popped up his collar before stepping back out into the bitter winter cold. He did not notice a figure, who'd been watching him ever since he stepped into the pub, rise from their booth to follow.

*

The Green Man trudged along the cold Manhattan sidewalk, the snow crunching audibly under his heavy boots. The Third Race were nothing if not creatures of habit, himself no exception, always returning to the same old haunts. If his quarry was not in Australia or America, then she'd likely returned to Ireland.

He had quietly ducked into an alley, the better to make an exit unnoticed, when he heard the tell-tale clink of metal striking metal. He turned to be confronted by three youths carrying an assortment of chains, baseball bats and brass knuckles.

"Ya lost, gramps?" the lead thug asked. He was tall, lanky and bald, clad in a long sleeveless coat and purple tinted glasses. "How 'bout you hand over your wallet and we'll point you towards the nearest old folk home?"

"Zounds," the Green Man drawled. "I appear to be surrounded."

"Don't get smart with us," the lead thug snarled, prodding the Green Man with a baseball bat. "Or you'll be needing directions to the city morg-"

The thug choked as the Green Man's gnarled fingers clenched around his throat. His other hand hooked around the thug's belt, lifting him bodily in the air before tossing him across the alley.

"Old bastard!" the second thug shrieked as he swung his chain. It wrapped around the Green Man's raised forearm. With a tug, he wrenched his attacker within arm's reach before delivering a fist straight to the jaw. The second thug instantly collapsed to the ground.

"Now, lad, we have…" The Green Man turned towards the remaining thug, only to find his quarry had already beat a hasty retreat. "Well, that's disappointing."

He turned towards the lead thug who was just staggering back to his feet. "Hey, man, be cool…" he muttered, backing off. "You… you can have my wallet!"

"Oh, I want far more than that, lad," the Green Man whispered as he drew an ugly curved ax, seemingly far too large to have been hidden beneath his overcoat.

"Come on, man… It was just a joke! IT WAS JUST A JOKE!" The thug backed up against the chain-link fence, screwing his eyes shut. After several long moments, nothing happened and the thug slowly opened his eyes.

The Green Man was holding out the ax-handle as though in offering.

"What… What's this?" the thug asked.

"A game." The Green Man smiled. "The rules are simple. You take a shot… then  _I_  take a shot."

"You… you serious?" the thug asked incredulously.

The Green Man dropped the ax into the thugs' hands before kneeling to bear his neck. The thug struggled to raise the heavy axe in his shaking hands, sweat greasing his palms. The ax clattered to the ground.

"Screw you, ya freakin' psycho!" the thug called back, already rapidly ascending the chain link fence.

"So disappointing…" the Green Man muttered to himself as he retrieved his ax.

"Cú Roí…?" a silken voice inquired from the shadows, a voice the Green Man had not heard in almost two thousand years. He instantly spun around. Eldritch green light flared about him as he cast off his mortal form. He assumed the shape a jade-skinned giant, clad in a green moss-furred wolf pelt rather than his usual viridian armour. He raised his massive ax in a defensive position.

A woman stood at the entrance to the alley, wearing an expensive dark purple coat and a silver eight-pointed star about her neck. Her hair was the color of dark wine save for a single bone-white streak. A live stoat with snow-white fur draped itself over her shoulders, eyes like polished rubies locked upon the Green Man. It hissed.

"Shush, Aisling…" the woman cooed as she stroked the animal's head. "You're being rude."

"Medb," the Green Man's ancient voice rumbled.

"I go by Maeve now," she answered. "I thought you'd be on  _Tir na nÓg_?"

"I thought you'd still be dead?" he retorted.

"I was…" Her serpent green eyes grew hard and cold. "I spent millennia adrift in the cycle of Life and Death, unaware of my true-self."

A tense silence fell over the alley.

"But enough about me. What news of She whose name I bear? Tell me of the Goddess of whom I am merely an earthly shadow…" her voice fell into a dark reverent whisper. "What of Queen Mab?"

The giant stared in stunned silence for a moment, before breaking out in uproarious laughter.

"And what, pray tell, is so funny?" she asked.

"You… You don't know? You really have no idea, do you?" he panted between bellows of laughter. "Mab is gone!"

"…What?" she asked through a frozen smile.

"Oberon, his halfling son, and the Gargoyle of the Sword threw down the mad dog from her throne and bound her with the blood of all Three Races centuries ago," he spoke softly. "Lord Oberon rules  _Tir na nÓg_  now!"

"Lies!" she hissed. "The Queen of All Things can never be overthrown! Even if every being, every power, in Heaven, Earth and Hell came together for that very purpose, still would they fail!"

"Believe what you will, woman," he spoke as a flurry of shimmering emerald leaves began to envelope him. "I leave you to your delusions."

Eldritch blinding light filled the alley. Once it had subsided the woman called Maeve found herself alone, save for her stoat familiar and her own disturbed thoughts.

"Come, Aisling," she whispered. "We have business elsewhere."

*

**Belfast, Northern Ireland**

The giant rematerialized upon the rooftop of an old disused garage. He took a moment to sniff the stale city air before falling on all fours, his form shifting once more all about him.

He had her scent now.

*

Rory opened the small refrigerator to find it starkly bare, the tiny light-bulb cold and dark. Peering around the back of the fridge revealed it hadn't even been plugged in.

"Guess you don't entertain much, these days," he quipped.

Molly sat upon a worn sofa on the other side of the dingy apartment, her face still obscured by the crimson scarf. She eyed him wordlessly.

"Alright," Rory said, plopping himself down on the chair opposite her. "When are ya gonna give up the ol' silent treatment shtick and tell me what yer game is? What was all that business back in Cavan last year? And where on earth did ya get that egg?"

Molly simply stared back him in response.

"Well… say something!" Rory demanded.

Molly began slowly unwrapping the scarlet scarf, letting it drop to the floor.

"Jesus…" Rory whispered.

A golden plate appeared to have been literally welded over Molly's mouth. Rory leaned close trying to find some seam between metal and skin.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

Molly fished out a small notepad and pen from her back pocket and quickly jotted down two words…

_My Lord_

Rory looked down on the note, utterly puzzled. "I… I don't understand."

Molly shrugged her shoulders in resignation, before she began to once more glow with an eerily green faery as she cast off her mortal form. In her place floated a gaunt spectral woman, her long pale blue locks and gossamer green shift waved in the air as though weightless. Only the gold plate remained unchanged, still affixed firmly over her lips.

The Banshee raised her hand silently and the entire room seemed to shimmer about Rory, he suddenly found himself standing within what appeared to be a dark and grim throne room. Beside him, the Banshee wordlessly cowered before an immense shadow-cloaked figure seated upon a cyclopean throne.

The shadow king's eyes burned with eldritch fire as he raised his hand towards the Banshee. A bolt of mystic energy leapt from his fingertips. The bolt struck the Banshee's still prostrate form, solidifying into the golden mouth-guard. With a single act of casual cruelty, the shadow king had robbed her of her voice.

Rory was still processing all this when the phantom throne room suddenly dissolved about him as the Banshee quickly reverted to her mortal form. Before Rory could speak, Molly rushed forward and clamped her hand around his mouth.

They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

The ceiling above them slowly but loudly creaked, then again, as though some huge animal was padding across the apartment upstairs. Suddenly the ceiling itself collapsed, sending Molly and Rory diving to the side of the room. Rory instinctively reached for his wooden staff only to remember he'd left it propped up against the fridge on the other side of the room.

"Lovely," he muttered bitterly.

As he and Molly staggered to their feet, an immense shape began to loom out of the dust cloud. It was a gigantic hound, back scraping against what was left of the ceiling. The monster's pelt was a rich dark green whose texture seemed more like that of old moss than animal fur.

"Morrigan, Crom-Cruach, Banshee…" it growled with a voice as deep and as dark as a midnight forest. "By Lord Oberon's command, I come to pass judgment upon you."

_**To be Continued…** _


	3. The Hound of Munster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

**Belfast, Northern Ireland,** **January 1st, 1998 A.D.**

"Stand aside, pup," the Green Hound growled as it padded closer on paws bigger than Rory's head. "I have no quarrel with you. At least... not this night."

"Molly," Rory whispered. "If you hit him with another light-show like before, it might distract him long enough for me to dive for  _Gáe Bolga_  and… Molly?" Rory glanced over his shoulder to find the apartment window yanked wide open and himself utterly alone. "I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore."

The Green Hound's belly rumbled with a low dark sound. It took Rory a few moments to realize it was laughing at him. "You always did have poor taste in friends, pup."

"Do I know you, mate?" Rory asked, eyeing the beast warily.

"You first knew me as Cú Roí, Hound of the Plains, King of Munster. We used to be rivals… of a sort. But enough reminiscing, here!" The beast swatted the yew-wood staff towards Rory with a casual flick of his paw. "Fight for her if you wish, pup. Personally, I don't think she's worth the effort."

Rory had barely enough time to grab the staff and hit the floor before the Green Hound bounded over him, crashing through the apartment wall. Rory staggered back to his feet just in time to see the gigantic beast leaping across the rooftops of Belfast.

"What is it with me and dogs?" Rory wondered before striking the staff against the floor, filling what remained of the apartment with golden light.

*

Molly kept her eyes firmly locked on the footpath in front of her, hood up as she briskly made her way down Donegall Street. The bone white spires of St. Anne's Cathedral loomed overhead while the open green of Bouy Park lay sleepily to her side. The bus station was only a twenty-minute walk away.

Using magic to flee would only attract Cú Roí's attention. Her best hope was to lose herself in the teeming mass of humanity, which made her oddly grateful for the many pedestrians passing by. Even  _he_ wouldn't be mad enough to try something in...

A long chilling howl pierced the city night, momentarily drowning out the bustle of traffic.

Molly turned to see the Green hound, charging towards her. The crowd parted before him like wheat before the wind. A toddler laughed and pointed as an elderly man shook his fist and muttered something about "bloody strays". Beyond that, none of the dozens of mortal bystanders payed any heed to the enormous unnatural emerald beast.

Molly broke into a mad dash as the Green Hound closed in. The faery beast pounced, its immense bulk soaring in the air, when a warrior wielding a shining spear slammed into it. Both combatants were sent flying into the grassy park, trashing violently as they hit the dirt.

Cú Chulainn's arms locked about the Green Hound's neck as the beast howled and writhed in fury. "Ya... give up... yet?" the hero asked through gritted teeth.

"You always had spirit, pup, I'll give you that," the Green Hound growled. "Brains, on the other hand…"

The hound glowed with blinding light and the next thing Cú Chulainn knew, a giant green hand had wrapped around the scruff of his neck, tossing him across the grass with single motion. He landed with painful thud, wiping the dirt from his eyes.

A gigantic emerald warrior loomed over Cú Chulainn, light-green skin painted with swirls of darker green. He was naked save for the moss-colored wolf pelt draped about his shoulders and a viridian sash tied about his waist. The giant reached into the shadows of his pelt, drawing forth an almost impossibly large iron-bladed ax.

"Come on then, pup…" The giant whispered. "Neither of us are getting any younger."

Cú Chulainn staggered to his feet, raised his spear high and charged the giant with a bloody Gaelic war-cry.

Molly took her chance to dash for shelter, hesitating briefly before the stately heavy doors of St. Anne's. Another howl of rage emanating from Bouy Park was enough to overcome her reluctance as she burst into the sanctuary, slamming the great doors behind her with a thunderous crack.

One of the handful of parishioners sitting silently in the pews craned his head to momentarily glare at Molly before returning to his own quite prayers. Strangely, none of the mortals seemed at all bothered by the cacophony of violence coming from beyond the cathedral walls, bloody war-cries mixing with savage howls.

Until the din was abruptly silenced.

Long moments passed as Molly strained to hear some sign from outside. She'd almost convinced herself to peer out the cathedral doors when they were suddenly flung open. The jade giant entered the church with thundering steps, his head bowed either in reverence or simply to prevent it scraping the high stone lintel.

"So…" Low dark laughter echoed deep in the giant's belly. "You, of all people, seek sanctuary in the House of Patrick's God?"

Molly tensed, ready to shift her form at a moment's notice.

"Peace, Morrigan," the giant spoke again, holding up a massive hand. "I have no intention of staining Holy Ground with your blood. I come with an ultimatum."

Molly tilted her head skeptically.

"I offer you the opportunity to face your judgement with what little honor you have left. If the pup's life means anything to you, meet me at Cathair Conraoi before sunset. If not, then you can take the coward's path and run. Either way…" The giant turned to stepped beyond the cathedral's threshold, vanishing in a blaze of emerald light.

"I'll find you."

*

Dawn found Molly in the ruins of her former apartment, frantically packing what meager worldly possessions of hers had survived the Green Hound's invasion. She forcibly tore up a loose floorboard in her bedroom, revealing a small metal strong-box beneath. Within was a small stash of mortal currency, enough to buy her a one-way ticket to America or maybe even Australia if she was lucky.

Molly snapped the briefcase shut, turning to leave what remained of her life in this city behind. She paused in front of the bedroom mirror. For centuries, her name had been a byword for fear. She had been the Phantom Queen whose death-song sent the armies of the Fomoiri fleeing into the sea in madness and terror. Now from the other side of the glass, stared back a creature that filled her with contempt, a callow craven child.

_When did I become such a coward?_

*

**Caherconree, Co. Kerry**

Rory shivered on the cold damp grass as he slowly fought his way back to consciousness, the icy mountain wind cutting into his bones. He staggered to his knees only to find his ankles and wrists bound by preternaturally thick vines of ivy.

He found himself on the slope of a gently rising mountain, the pale light of dawn forming a white halo about its summit. A river valley stretched out below him, its walls seeming to dance as he tried to focus on them. Intermittently surrounding him, stood broken stretches of a crumbling stone ring-fort.

"This seems… familiar," he muttered to himself.

"It should, pup," a deep voice rumbled. "This is where you 'slew' me."

Rory craned back his neck to see the jade giant kneeling in grass behind him. The giant was meticulously sharpening the iron blade of his axe upon a dark slab-like whetstone.

"Oh… I'm... sorry? I guess," he offered.

"Oh, don't be." The giant tested the axe blade with the flat of his thumb, drawing a bead of glowing green ichor. A single drop of the emerald ichor landed upon the ground, instantly blossoming into a tiny sapling. "I got over it."

"Okaaay…" Rory answered awkwardly. "So… what were we fighting over in the first place?"

"What else?" The giant gave a low rumbling chuckle. "A woman!"

"Ah… what else, indeed."

The giant laid the iron ax upon his knees. "I was young then, wild and barbarous. I took what I wanted whenever the mood struck me with nary a thought for the consequences. I knew nothing of generosity, fellowship, chastity, courtesy or charity."

"What changed?" Rory asked.

"Everything," the giant rumbled solemnly.

The quiet was broken by the sound of thunder rolling across the dark grey clouds above. Rory turned his gaze upward in response, eyes wide with awe "Mary, mother of God…"

It looked like a titanic tower of shimmering crystal, taller than any man-made structure Rory had ever seen before. The immense fortress seemed to slowly revolve upon its own axis as it gently descended from the clouds above.

"Behold, the Castle Revolving…" the giant exulted. " _Caer Sidi!_ "

*

A crow soared over the mountainous landscape, the golden band around its beak glimmering blood-red in the light of the setting sun. Directly in the crow's path, loomed the cold grey mass of Caherconree. Above its mist-shrouded peak, hovered the slowly rotating crystalline mass of  _Caer Sidi_.

The ebon-feathered form silently swooped through one of the countless narrow openings that dotted the fortress walls. Eldritch green light enveloped the crow as it landed upon a smooth polished floor. A moment later, a young pink-haired woman clad in a black hoodie stood in the bird's place.

Molly's eyes darted in every direction, taking in her surroundings. The ceiling, the walls and even the floor beneath her feet were all fashioned of the same transparent glass-like crystal. The land below and the sky above could both be seen through the architecture of the floating stronghold, fragmented and distorted.

The entire effect was vaguely disorienting to Molly's mortal senses, making her faintly nauseous.

"Molly?" a familiar voice called.

She turned to see Rory, standing in a crystal archway.

"Quick, I found a way out," he beckoned before disappearing into the room beyond.

Molly followed cautiously, every instinct screaming at her. She found herself in a large circular chamber, its glass-like floor smooth and transparent. At the far end of the chamber stood Rory.

"Molly?" he still beckoned. "Quick, I found a way out."

Molly's eyes narrowed as she took one step forward. The floor gave way beneath her feet, transforming to ice-cold water as she plummeted into its depths.

Her limbs trashed frantically as she broke the surface, inhaling deeply of the sweet life giving air. She'd just started paddling to the pool's edge when something wrapped tightly about her ankles, abruptly yanking her back under.

She looked down through the crystal-clear water to see a night-black python coiled tightly about her lower legs. Eight other ophidian shapes slithered slowly through the cold liquid.

The closest reptile wasted no time in winding itself about Molly's upper body, pinning her arms to her side in a vice-like grip. The serpent's embrace became tighter and tighter as it sought to squeeze the very air from her lungs. Just as she was about to black out, Molly's form began to glow with an eldritch light.

The surface of the crystal pool began to churn violently before it was broken by a massive grey-green form that seemed to be a nightmarish blend of eel, centipede and morbidly obese maggot. Crom-Cruach shook two pythons from its colossal body like a dog shaking off water droplets. The spiked golden grill welded over the monster's slavering mandibles glinted wickedly in the refracted light.

The Death-Worm's shimmering compound-eyes turned towards the remaining pythons. The ebon serpents hissed in response before dissolving into dark mist.

Another flash of light and Molly reverted to her human form. She dragged her soaking wet self out of the crystal pool, taking a moment to steady her breath before lurching into the next chamber.

"Molly?" a chorus spoke.

Hey eyes widened as she countless Rory Dugans standing within as many crystal archways. Each beckoning her down a different path.

"Quick, I found a way out," they chimed in unison.

Molly shut her eyes, emerald energy suffusing her form as it began to shift yet again. A moment later, a grey she-wolf stood in her place, a spiked golden muzzle fastened tightly about her jaw.

The she-wolf raised her snout sniffing the air. Within moments, she had caught an all too familiar scent. She swiftly bounded through the winding labyrinthine corridors of  _Caer Sidi_. Its phantom visions faded into the dull grey background of her sight, drowned out by the rich sea of scents revealed by her lupine senses.

She eventually found herself within a cavernous throne room. At its centre, an unconscious Rory stood encased up to his armpits in transparent crystal. His left arm dangling freely.

In a flash, the she-wolf once more reverted to Molly's form as it ran up to the senseless Rory. She cupped his cheeks almost tenderly for a moment, before slapping him.

"UGH!" Rory grunted groggily. "What the hell was that for?"

Molly let out a breath of relief, satisfied that this was the real Rory. Her eyes darted about the chamber until they came to rest on a yew-wood staff propped up against the empty crystal throne;  _Gáe Bolga_. She dashed for the staff, wrapping her hands about its shaft when the entire fortress seemed to tremble with a voice like thunder.

"MORRIGAN!"

Molly turned to see Cú Roí's gigantic form looming over her. His colossal axe was slung over his shoulders and in his hand, he held a bloody sack.

"I offer you a gift, child," his voice rumbled as she reached into the sack, drawing forth a still dripping severed head. Its short hair was dyed pink and its lips sealed by a golden mouth-plate.

Molly's eyes widened at the sight of her own face.

"I could return to  _Tir na nÓg_ , lay this plaything at our Lord's feet. He'd never know the difference. All I ask in return…" The giant's eyes smoldered with baleful green fire. "Is that you leave the pup to me."

Molly was frozen in place as the giant's words sunk in. She could be free, with the whole breath of the earth hers for the taking. She'd never have to look over her shoulder for that upstart Oberon or his sycophantic lackeys ever again, and all it would cost her… was Rory.

The Jade giant reached out his hand. "Give me the spear."

Molly raised the spear… before tossing it over her shoulder.

"NOOO!" the jade giant bellowed as the yew-wood staff sailed through the air, before landing in Rory's outstretched hand.

"Finally!" Rory cried as he struck the staff against the crystal encasing him. Blinding golden light filled the throne room of  _Caer Sidi_. Cú Chulainn, Hero of Ulster, stood tall amid the broken shards. A spear of solidified light shimmered in his hand.

"You almost had me going there," Cú Chulainn spoke, glancing aside to Molly.

"Very well then. If you're BOTH so eager to die!" Cú Roí's howled as he unslung his ax and charged the two young heroes.

They'd barely managed to dodge the first blow of the titanic ax as it wedged itself deep in the crystal floor. Even Cú Roí's inhuman strength seemed hard-pressed to wrench it free.

Molly took the opportunity to shift her form once more. She shifted into the shape of an immense wild heifer, pure white save for her scarlet ears. She charged the green warrior, intending to gore him upon her wide uncut horns.

Cú Roí spun around with a speed that belied his mass, gripping the each of the white heifer's horns in his jade fists before tossing her clear across the chamber. She landed with a bone-shaking crunch, before reverting to human form.

Molly staggered to her feet, her head still ringing. She tried to focus through bleary eyes.

Cú Roí had already retrieved his ax and was currently locked in frantic duel with Cú Chulainn. The Hero of Ulster fought with tenacity and savagery, lancing forward with his shimmering spear again and again. Yet there was little doubt which combatant was the most skilled. Cú Roí dodged or parried every strike with almost casual ease.

"This game bores me, pup." Cú Roí feinted to one side as Cú Chulainn lunged again. The jade giant retorted by bringing the wooden hilt of his axe down hard on the back of his opponent's unarmored thigh. Cú Chulainn let out a wail of agony as his femur shattered, sending him collapsing to the ground.

"Poor pup," the giant whispered coldly. "Perhaps your next incarnation will provide better sport?"

Molly's world seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched Cú Roí raise his titan ax high, ready to deliver the final blow to the fallen Hero of Ulster. Her mind went utterly blank, operating on pure instinct as she dashed forward.

With a single desperate lunge, Molly shoved Cú Chulainn out of the path of the descending ax. She screwed her eyes shut tight as the iron blade fell upon her own neck. She felt a sharp sting then…

Nothing.

Molly opened her eyes to find herself upon the grassy slopes of Caherconree. She gingerly felt the back of her neck to find a bleeding but shallow gash, her head still firmly attached.

"Molly?" Rory called, sitting in the wet grass beside her as he gently patted his thigh. "My leg, it… it feels fine?" He slowly clambered to his feet, carefully testing his weight. "It IS fine!"

High above them,  _Caer Sidi_  was slowly withdrawing back into the clouds from whence it came.

Molly's mind was still racing to understand what had happened when a harsh barking laugh shattered the silence. She turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Cú Roí's madly grinning visage.

Before Molly or Rory could react, Cú Roí had already swept both of them up in a tight embrace. The jade giant laughing with mad joy as he danced about the ruined ring-fort, carrying the young heroes all the while.

"Over two millennia and I never thought you had a single selfless bone in your body! But you did it, girl! You beat me! YOU BEAT ME!" Cú Roí howled and laughed before dropping the two mostly humans once more upon the wet grass.

"What the bloody Hell is going on?" Rory cried. "A minute ago, you were trying to kill us! Now your bloody congratulating us?"

"Who said anything about congratulating  _you_ , pup? This was  _her_  test," Cú Roí spoke sternly, pointing at Molly. "All you did was poke your wet nose where it had no business being."

"And how exactly would you have pulled this 'test' off if I hadn't?" Rory asked petulantly.

"I would have thought of something." Cú Roí waved a hand dismissively. "I always do."

"I'm startin' to understand why my old self never liked you," Rory sniped.

"Molly…" Cú Roí iintoned. "I know what you did. What I didn't understand was why. After testing your true intent, I think I do now." He glanced meaningfully at Rory.

Molly glared at the giant, holding up her bloody fingers by way of protest.

"That was for being a sneaky little thief. If anything, I'm being overly lenient with you. Perhaps I'm getting soft in my old age?" Cú Roí sighed before turning to leave.

"Wait, don't you have a boss?" Rory asked. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"What else?" Cú Roí replied. "The truth…"

*

**Oberon's Palace, Avalon,** **January 6th**

The Green Knight knelt before the Throne of Avalon, his head lowered in deference to his liege. His massive blood-stained ax was slung over his giant armoured shoulders.

Lord Oberon eyed his vassal thoughtfully, Princess Katharine and Gabriel still flanking his throne.

"My Lord," the Green Knight's ancient voice rumbled. "As you commanded, judgement has been passed upon the Banshee."

"I see…" spoke Lord Oberon, steepling his fingers.

"And… the egg?" Princess Katharine interjected, fearing the answer.

"Beyond my reach, I fear," the armored giant spoke.

"No…" Katharine whispered despairingly, as Gabriel hung his head in shame.

"I have failed you, my Lord, and your Honor Guard," The Green Knight turned towards the gargoyle, offering the hilt of his ax. "Captain Gabriel, I offer you my life in recompense for the one lost to your Clan."

Katharine and Gabriel were speechless, the gargoyle looked to the Throne haplessly.

Lord Oberon simply arched a curious eyebrow. "The choice is yours, my Captain."

"I'll kill no man on his knees, my Lord," Gabriel answered. "Certainly, not for a failing of which I am at least equally guilty."

"Then I owe you my life, good Captain." The Green Knight rose to his feet, towering over all. "Is there anything else, my Lord Oberon?"

"Not at the present time, Sir Bercilak," Oberon answered. "You are dismissed."

The Green Knight bowed once more before vanishing in a burst of blinding emerald light. He re-materialized within his crumbling chapel, the rich dark ivy coiled almost lovingly about the ancient stones.

"Sir Bercilak?" a voice spoke softly.

The Green Knight turned to be greeted by a vision of a silver-haired woman clad in a gown of shimmering samite. She seemed to float before him, hair and cloth flowing languidly about her. A single pure white lily set amid her shining tresses.

"My lady…" the Green Knight whispered softly as he bowed low, taking the Lady of the Lake's hand tenderly in his own massive fingers. "My sweet Lily."

"It has been far too long, Sir Bercilak." She smiled sweetly at the jade giant as their eyes met.

"How may I serve thee, my lady?"

"I had hoped I might be of service to thee, my lord."

"Oh?" The Green Knight's head tilted quizzically.

"Arthur Pendragon has returned to the waking world," she answered his unspoken question.

"Another one?" the Green Knight chuckled softly. "They seem to be popping up like weeds."

*

**Manhattan, New York**

"Here we go," said Sgt. Carter, holding open the door to the 23rd Precinct's evidence lock-up. "After you, Professor…?"

"Banríon," the woman answered in a lilting Irish accent.

"Right… anyway should be down this way." Carter led her down an aisle, grey metal lockers looming on either side of them. "Let's see, should be number 994."

Fishing a key from his pocket, Carter opened the locker in question to reveal a weathered stone tablet inscribed with Latin writing.

"Beautiful…" she whispered, fingers gently tracing the ancient inscriptions.

"I'll take your word for it." Carter shrugged. "It's been collecting dust down here for over a year. City woulda normally auctioned it off by now, but the Gargoyle Task Force keeps sayin' it's part on an ongoing investigation or something."

"Would it be alright if I took this back to the university for a while, just to give it a closer look?" she asked.

"Sorry, ma'am." Carter shook his head. "Can't let you take evidence out of lock-up!"

"Well, you can't blame a lass for trying." She smiled sweetly, before drawing a stone knife from her coat and slashing open Carter's throat with a single swift motion.

Carter collapsed to his floor, his scream choked by the blood clogging his airways. His attacker knelt to gently place a finger on his crimson stained lips.

"Shh… don't be afraid," she whispered softly. "Death is only a transition. Take my word for it. Think of this as a… fresh start."

Maeve took the Medici Tablet from the locker, carefully wrapping it within a grey shawl before tucking it under her arm. She slipped quietly from the evidence locker, making her way nonchalantly through the Precinct's corridors.

"Here, let me get that," a voice spoke as she approached the exit.

Maeve tilted her head to see a female police detective in a pair of blue jeans and a red jacket holding open the door for her.

"Thank you, dear," Maeve spoke sweetly. "Goddess smile upon you and yours."

The detective chuckled. "Happy Holiday to you too, ma'am."

Maeve stepped into the noonday sun. She took a moment to savor the cold winter air, foul and greasy as it was. It didn't matter. Soon all that would change.

Soon, she would make this world whole again.

_**To be Continued…** _


	4. Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

**Liscoo, Co. Donegal,** **March 21** **st,** **1998 A.D.**

Rory Dugan paced back and forth across the damp cellar floor, eyes never budging from the stone egg that sat in the corner upon a pile of old blankets. He checked his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Sunset was hours ago," he muttered more to himself than anyone else. "What's taking so long?"

"I thought you said it might not be for another night or two?" Sean Dugan piped up, peering over his newspaper.

"I know, I know but I haven't done this in 'bout two thousand years. What if I did something wrong? What if I didn't turn it enough?" Rory suddenly stopped in his tracks, a look of pure terror in his eyes. "What if I turned it too much!?"

A soft sound echoed through the empty cellar. Rory and his father instantly turned to see dark cracks slowly creeping along the stone eggshell. Something like a thin snarl rang out as whatever lay within struggled to be born. Stubby taloned feet kicked out, punching holes in grey flaking shell.

Within moments, the hatchling had shaken off the last few flecks of stone skin. Even newly born, it was already as big as a medium sized dog. It was four legged and wingless with skin as black as coal. Two thin slits glowed a soft scarlet as it screwed its eyes against the light.

"A barghest…" Sean whispered in awe.

The barghest sniffed the air, trying to scramble to its feet before falling back on the crushed shell. It whined pleadingly, desperate for reassurance that it was not alone in the universe.

"Come here, girl," Rory whispered softly, wrapping the barghest up in a thick blanket and hefting her unto his lap.

"How do you know it's a girl?" Sean asked.

"Ye can tell by the colour their eyes glow," Rory answered without thinking as he fished a lukewarm milk bottle from his jacket pocket.

Sean cocked an eyebrow. "And how do you know  _that?_ "

"I don't know," Rory admitted. "It just… feels right."

The barghest curled in Rory's lap as she suckled hungrily from the rubber teat. She knew only that she was safe, she was home…

She was among family.

*

**Soho, London,** **March 22nd**

Mandy Collins scarfed down a croissant as she strolled briskly down the busy London street. The clear, sharp morning light lending the city a certain vividness.

"Oi, Mandy!" a voice cried from the crowd.

Mandy turned to be greeted by a dark-haired girl close to her own age hailing her. "Oh hey, Jill," she replied.

"So, how's the new job going?" Jill asked, falling into step by her friend's side.

"It's alright," Mandy answered. "Day-shift is pretty slow. Half the time I feel more like a night-watchman then a shopkeeper. But the pay's decent so I suppose I shouldn't complain."

"And your bosses?"

"They're… interesting," Mandy replied uncertainly. "Very hands-off, hardly ever see them to be honest."

"Well, sounds like someone found a cushy gig," Jill chuckled. "I'll catch up with you later, gotta drop by the Yard to see my dad. Peace!"

"Peace," Mandy waved her friend off before stopping in front of her place of work. It was an ancient, pre-Tudor building whose roof was normally crowned by two statues; a winged lion and unicorn. Though neither could be seen this morn.

Mandy smiled to herself before unlocking the front door and flipping the shop sign to "Open". She spent the first half-hour wiping down the shelves and displays before taking her place behind the till. Then she spent the next hour anxiously watching every passer-by through the window. Then she spent yet another half-hour wiping down the displays yet again.

It was almost noon when the bell above the door rang.

Mandy craned her head from the chunk of crystal she was polishing to see a tall regal woman standing in the shop's door. Long lustrous hair fell about her shoulders in waves, it was a dark wine-red save for a single snow-white streak. Her eyes were the deepest, most captivating shade of green Mandy had ever seen.

"I hope this isn't a bad time?" the woman asked in a rich Irish accent.

It was at that moment that Mandy realized she'd been staring. "Yes… I mean no, sorry…" she blurted, offering her hand. "I'm Mandy, welcome to  _Into the Mystic_."

"Charmed," the stranger spoke sweetly as she took Mandy's hand. "Maeve Banríon, professor of archaeology at Trinity College, Dublin"

A glint of silver caught Mandy's eye, a pendent hanging around the professor's neck. It was fashioned in the image of a sort of wheel or star, eight arrow-like spokes radiating from a central hub.

"Isn't that the Star of Chaos?" Mandy asked.

"You're familiar?" the professor asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, eight arrows representing infinite possibilities."

"My, you are knowledgeable," the professor chuckled musically.

"Well, you pick up a lot working in a place like this." Mandy blushed slightly. "So, what can I do for you, Professor?"

"Please call me Maeve," she answered. "I actually received a letter from Una inquiring about authenticating an artifact she has in storage here."

"You know Una?!" Mandy asked with barely veiled shocked.

"Let's just say I have a long history with her… people," Maeve answered.

"So… what does this artifact look like?" asked Mandy.

"She described it as an iron jar with Proto-Semitic inscriptions."

Mandy thought for a moment. "I think I've seen something like that in the backroom. But… I'm not really supposed to take anyone back there without checking with Una first. If you come back after dark…?"

"That's a pity," Maeve sighed. "I'm afraid my plane leaves for Ireland in a few hours."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Don't trouble yourself, darling," Maeve answered as she turned to leave. "Give Una my love when you see her."

"Wait!" Mandy called out.

Maeve stopped just short of the door and smiled.

*

 _Into the Mystic's_  storeroom was a veritable treasure trove. While the front of the shop mostly sold New Age nick-knacks and "authentic" copies of the Necronomicon, the storeroom seemed to almost pulse with the sum of the occult power collected there.

A jeweled wadjet framed in gold, four multi-colored glass orbs, a shard of softly glowing blue crystal, a broken wooden staff, an ancient papyrus sealed with the emblem of the Phoenix and a blood-stained dagger with pommel fashioned in the image of a snarling dragon were just a few of the artifacts secreted here.

Mandy gently pushed aside a golden Babylonian helmet, a dark Graeco-Roman urn and a Taino bracelet in the form of two serpents biting down on each other's tails. "Here it is," she called back as she retrieved the object of her search.

It was an ancient cast-iron jar, the lid seemingly welded on. Mandy wiped away a thick layer of dust to reveal the image of a four-armed, vaguely insect-like female figure inscribed upon its surface.

"That should do nicely," Maeve purred, before draw a taser from her coat and jamming into the small of Mandy's back.

Mandy trashed violently as the electricity surged through her body, limbs growing heavy and vision blurring. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was Maeve smiling down upon her with an almost maternal grace.

"Hush, child…" she whispered, pressing a finger to Mandy's lips. "When you awaken, all this shall be not but a dream."

*

Maeve strode out confidently into the soft afternoon sun. She could not help but run her fingers lovingly over the figures and glyphs inscribed upon the iron jar.

"The Blood of Lilith," she whispered softly to herself.

Awaiting her was a black limousine. A hulking figure, clad in a purple hooded robe and a silver Chaos Star pendant, stood to one side. He silently opened the door.

"Thank you, Ailill," Maeve spoke as she slipped in.

No sooner had she taken her seat than something white and furred instantly darted up her arm, coming to a rest on her shoulder and nuzzling her cheek.

"Mother missed you too, Aisling," Maeve chuckled as she stroked the stoat head.

"I trust all went well, my Goddess?"

"As well as could be expected, Locha," Maeve answered.

Across from Maeve sat a young dark-skinned woman clad in the same purple robe and silver pendent as the bodyguard outside. She pulled small put expensive laptop from her carrier-case.

"If it pleases you, Goddess," Locha spoke. "We've received something from our 'partner' that I believe you'll wish to see."

"Oh?" Maeve inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"CCTV footage recovered from an incident that took place last New Year's in Belfast," Locha spoke as she turned the laptop's screen towards her Mistress. "Her Majesty's government has been trying to keep it out of public view."

Maeve watched as grainy footage of a Belfast dock flickered across the screen. A battle seemed to rage across the field of pixels. The first combatant was a woman, clad in what appeared to be a suit of hi-tech exo-armor and wielding an electrified mace. She was… intriguing but it was her foe that captured Maeve's undivided attention.

"Finally…" Her lips curled in a wicked smile. "I thought he'd never show."

_**To be Continued…** _


	5. She Who Intoxicates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

_"She preferred to cross the mountain by leaving a track that would show forever her contempt for Ulster… to make the Pass of the Cualinge Cattle."_

_~ The Tain_

**Knocknarea, Co. Sligo,** **October 31st, 1984 A.D.**

She clawed her way through the narrow pitch-black tunnel, fingers caked in blood and soil. Not the slightest trace of light penetrated the twisting subterranean crawlspace, yet that couldn't stop the visions that filled her mind's eye every waking moment.

_She rode within a radiant bronze chariot drawn by two immense bulls, clad in the rich purple robes of a queen. One hand gripped a bloody iron spear. The other triumphantly held aloft the severed head of her most hated enemy; the Son of Lugh, the Hound of Culann…_

_The Hero of Ulster._

The tunnel seemed to widen just ahead, revealing a soft greenish glow. She crawled forward to find herself in a tall stone chamber lit only by an eldritch phosphorescence.

The cavern was filled with riches beyond imaging; gold torques, bronze chariots, and even what appeared to be a jewelled silver gauntlet. But it was what stood at the very centre of the chamber that captivated her.

An upright stone slab, facing north. Bound upon it was the mummified body of a queen, clad in royal purple silk. A silver pendant in the shape on an eight-pointed star hung about its neck. A corroded iron spear was clutched tightly in its bony fingers. Its withered lips were peeled back in a rictus snarl of hate as empty eye-sockets glared northward at unseen enemies.

Her hand reached out slowly. Fingers grazed the cool metal of the Star of Chaos, and in that instant, she remembered… everything.

Hours later, she staggered forth from the hidden entrance at the mountain's base. Her body was drained, exhausted, freezing… yet her mind was finally clear. For the first time in years, she knew exactly who she was…

The Queen of the South.

She Who Intoxicates.

Medb.

*

**Belfast, Northern Ireland,** **November 1st, 1998 A.D**

The pale white walls of the Ulster Museum gleamed a dirty yellow in the dim street lights, like the stained bones of some long dead giant. The sky above was black and empty save for the waxing gibbous moon. In a few more nights, it would be full…

A Hunter's Moon.

In another life, another self, Molly would have considered such a thing an omen. Here and now, she gave little thought to the lunar phases as she stared out the passenger window of the decade old Lada. Her attention was fixed entirely on the edifice across the street.

Someone knocked on the driver window, causing Molly to turn and tense like a startled cat. Rory Dugan grinned like an idiot, holding up two paper bags bearing McDonald's logos. She stretched across to unlock the door.

"I didn't know what you wanted so I got you a Quarter-Pounder with cheese," Rory said, cheerfully offering her one of the bags.

Molly's eyes glared balefully over her golden mouth-plate.

"Sorry… I forgot." Rory cringed. "Say, Molly, how do you eat?"

Molly responded with a few curt gestures in ISL that translated roughly as "None of your business _._ "

Rory sighed. It'd been over ten months since Molly came barreling back into his life. Yet in all that time it seemed like he hadn't learned anything about who she really was, or why she had suddenly decided to help him in his quest to protect Ireland after trying to kill him… twice.

"How 'bout you, girl?" Rory said, holding up the unwrapped burger.

A large coal-black shape lunged forward from the backseat, snapping up the burger in a fanged maw and swallowing it whole in the space of a second.

"Barghest", as Rory had taken to calling her, was barely eight months old and already nearly as large as the beast that had awakened Rory in the first place. Even then, her growth showed no sign of slowing. No sooner had the beast licked her lips clean than she was sniffing after Rory's own burger.

"Come on, girl, I have to eat too," he protested.

Barghest whined pleadingly.

"That won't…" Rory's shoulders fell in surrender as he held aloft his meal. "Fine."

In an instant, it had followed the same path as its comrade.

"Are you sure all this is worth it?" Rory asked, turning to Molly.

Her only response was to hand him folded newspaper clipping. Even though Rory already knew the contents, he reread it for lack of anything more constructive to do. The first thing to draw his eye was a full-color picture of what looked like an arm-length gauntlet. It was forged of pure silver, an emerald gem set in the back of the hand.

_Pʀɪᴄᴇʟᴇss Aʀᴛᴇꜰᴀᴄᴛ Dᴏɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Uʟsᴛᴇʀ Mᴜsᴇᴜᴍ_

_An anonymous benefactor bequeathed a priceless silver gauntlet to the Ulster Museum. The gauntlet is of uncertain but presumably Celtic providence. Though the artifact has yet to be authenticated, it is believed to represent the "Silver Hand of Nuada"; a mythical High King who supposedly ruled the entire island over three thousand years ago. Per legend, Nuada's arm was severed in single combat with a fierce sword-wielding champion of-_

Rory continued skimming the text. "So… this Nuada fella was one of the Sidhe like you, right? And you think this thing really is his actual arm?"

 _Not think. Know,_  Molly signed.

"How?" Rory asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

 _I was there,_  she signed.

"Of course you were..." Rory responded, a little dumbfounded.

Molly ignored him. She didn't really expect Rory to understand. To him, Nuada was just some character in a storybook. He wasn't there when Nuada first led the Children of Danu to Éire. He wasn't there when that sword-happy meddler sliced off Nuada's arm at the shoulder. He wasn't there when Balor…

"Hey!" Rory gently tapped her shoulder, gesturing out the window.

Molly narrowed her eyes, catching sight of a pair of dim shadows moving across the museum's roof.

Rory reached for his yew-wood staff. "Showtime!"

*

Three figures slipped silently through the museum's skylight, having already disabled the alarms. They were all clad the midnight black, identities concealed by featureless masks.

The first took a moment to survey her surroundings before signaling her accomplices to follow. The second figure was a towering giant that lumbered after her. The third figure took up the rear cautiously. They made their way silently towards the main display hall, dispatching a guard on their way, where the Silver Hand of Nuada lay encased in glass.

The lead thief fished a glass cutter from a pouch on her belt, slowly and silently cutting a perfect circular opening in the transparent plane. A few minutes later found her gently lifting the silver appendage through the opening, before passing it to the second thief. No sooner had the giant secured it in the black duffle-bag slung over his shoulder then a streak of golden light whizzed mere inches past his face, blinding him.

"If you lot wanted a hand, you could have just asked!"

All three thieves turned as one in the direction of the voice. Before them stood the towering figure of a man clad in golden helm and crimson cloak. The streak of golden light came flying back to his outstretched hand, where he gripped it like a solid object.

At his side, stood a young woman wearing a black hoodie, a red scarf wound tightly about her lower face. She rolled her eyes.

"What?" Cú Chulainn asked. "You know, like a 'helping hand'? It's superhero banter!"

Before Molly could respond, the tallest thief raised something that resembled a high-tech slingshot only in the sense that a Walther P99 resembled a squirt gun.

"DOWN!" Cú raised his shield as a small grey projectile hurtled directly for his head, embedding itself deep in the bronze plating. He lowered it just in time to catch sight of the three thieves fleeing up an adjacent stairwell.

Molly leapt past Cú, emerald light enveloping her as she shifted into a grey-furred golden-muzzled she-wolf. Her canine shape become a grey blur as she took off in pursuit of her quarry.

"Guess, I'm taking up the rear?" Cú sighed, giving chase.

He and the she-wolf reached the museum roof only to find the three thieves already making their escape in a waiting jet-black helicopter. The first two were safely enclosed within the cabin, but the third still hung from a swaying rope ladder as the craft skimmed the botanical gardens surrounding the museum.

"Oh no you don't!" Cú let fly  _Gáe Bolga,_ severing the rope ladder and sending the remaining thief tumbling into one of the many trees below.

The helicopter disappeared into the night sky, it's occupants seemingly indifferent to their accomplice's plight.

*

He cringed painfully with every step, limping his way through the botanical gardens surrounding the museum. The tree had broken the worst of his fall. Yet his ankle had still been badly sprained, if not shattered entirely. Right now, his best hope was to make it to the streets and try to lose himself in the city. If he couldn't, then that left only one final means of escape. He ducked down a tree-shaded path, hopeful, that he was nearing the gate.

He froze in his steps when a deep low growl rumbled from the shadows. Crimson eyes burned like coals in the darkness as a snarling. night-black beast stalked forth out of the undergrowth, blocking the thief's path.

He screamed, trying to hobble back the way he came, only to be cut-off by the gold-helmed warrior from the museum and a silent grey she-wolf.

"I see you've met my dog?" Cú spoke amiably.

The thief recoiled in terror as Barghest snapped at his heels.

"We're all tired, mate," Cú continued. "Why don't you come all peaceful like and we'll get that leg looked at?"

"We are  _Sclábhaithe de Medb_ … Slaves of the Goddess…" The thief muttered more to himself than anyone else, jaw suddenly clenching under his mask. "We live for Her… we die for…" He fell to the ground, limbs convulsing violently.

Cú raced to the fallen thief's side, pulling back the black mask. He couldn't have been much older than Rory. Eyes rolled back in their sockets as foam bubbled from rictus lips.

"Sweet Jesus…" Cú whispered. "He's dead."

*

**Liscoo, Co. Donegal** **November 2nd**

The red-gold light of the setting sun streamed through the living room window as Rory turned the strange projectile over and over in his hand. It was grey and hard, with an odd mottled pattern unlike any he'd ever seen in a natural rock.

"What is it, exactly?" he asked, brows furrowed.

 _T-A-T-H-L-U-M_ , Molly answered, signing out each individual letter.

"Tathlum?" Rory repeated to himself.

"I've read 'bout those," Sean Dugan mused, peering over his newspaper. "Sling-stones used by ancient Irish warriors."

"What did they make them out of?" Rory asked, tracing his fingers over the grooves lining the weapon's surface.

"Calcified brains of their enemies, as I recall," Sean answered casually, returning to his paper.

"GAAAGH!" Rory recoiled, dropping the tathlum to the floor.

On the other end of the sofa, Molly managed to somehow convey a satisfied smirk despite her mouth-plate.

"You are sick." Rory glared at her, gingerly retrieving the weapon and placing it on the coffee table. "Anyway, this… thing won't do us any good without knowing who that poor sod who offed himself was…?"

"Fergal Macintyre, age 22, student of anthropology at Trinity University Dublin with no prior criminal record," Sean cut in, leafing through the paper.

Rory and Molly stared at each other before turning their attention back to Mr. Dugan. "And how the Devil do you know that?"

"Because…" Sean cocked an eyebrow. "I just read his obituary."

*

**Trinity College, Dublin,** **November 3rd**

The waxing moon shone brightly down on Trinity's dormitories. Most of the windows were either dark and shut tight or gleaming with a dull orange glow. Only one darkened window on the third floor lay open like an empty eye-socket. No one payed any heed to the green faintly glowing mist that wound its way through the campus. And no one noticed as it seemed to slither up the dorm walls into the window that had once belonged to the late Fergal Macintyre.

Once within the shadowed dorm, the green mist began to coalesce into the ghostly form of the Banshee. Her head turned in a quick bird-like motion at the sound of soft rapping at the door. Three knocks, a pause, then two more knocks. She paused briefly in front of a full-length mirror, before casting a glamour over herself with a wave of her hand. The image of the Woman of the Sidhe shimmered in the mirror, to be replaced by that of Molly.

It was only an illusion of course, not true human form. The golden mouth-plate had been rendered temporarily invisible, yet she could still feel its suffocating weight.

The knocking came again.

"Finally," Rory spoke, ducking under the neon yellow police tape as "Molly" opened the door. "Find anything yet?"

She shook her head.

Barghest padded in behind Rory, sniffing curiously along the floor.

"Guards probably already grabbed anything that looked suspicious or interesting," Rory sighed. "Still, maybe we'll find something they missed." Despite his optimism, the room had been picked clean. Rory himself tried peering under the bed. "Bloody Hell! They didn't even leave a dirty sock!"

A low growl grabbed his attention as he wiggled himself free. Barghest was clawing at the full-length mirror. A shaggy black Irish wolfhound glared back at her from the glass.

"Easy, girl…" Rory reassured the beast. "That's just the glamour Molly put on ya to keep from spooking the..." It was then, he realized she was growling at something  _behind_  the glass. He took his yew-wood staff in both hands, wedging the thin end between the mirror and the wall before wrenching it loose.

"Molly," he whispered. "look at this!"

"Molly" peered over his shoulder. Behind the mirror, lay a hollowed-out crawlspace that had seemingly been converted into a crude shrine. At the center of it, stood a small crudely carved figure. It was vaguely female, four armed and barely three inches tall.

Rory didn't notice "Molly" shiver. His attention had been grabbed by the leather-bound tome tucked away to the side of the alcove.

_Tʜᴇ Wɪᴛᴄʜ-Cᴜʟᴛɪɴ Wᴇsᴛᴇʀɴ Eᴜʀᴏᴘᴇ_

_ʙʏ_

_Mᴀʀɢᴀʀᴇᴛ Aʟɪᴄᴇ Mᴜʀʀᴀʏ_

Rory flipped absently through the book, coming to "APPENDIX I: FAIRIES AND WITCHES" where one passage caught his eye…

_That there was a strong connexion between witches and fairies has been known to all students of fairy lore. I suggest that the cult of the fairy or primitive race survived until less than three hundred years ago, and that the people who practised it were known as witches. I have already pointed out that many of the witch-beliefs and practices coincide with those of an existing dwarf race, viz. the Lapps. The Devil and the witches entered freely into the fairy mounds, the Devil is often spoken of as a fairy man, and he consorts with the Queen of Elfhame…_

"Queen of Elfhame" was underlined in red ink. The same ink had been used to fill almost every square centimeter of the page's margins with cramped notes. Rory was only able to pick out a few words or phrases.

"Blood of Lilith… Tears of Danu… Magna Mater… Winter Queen?" Rory squinted. "Does this stuff mean anything to you, Molly?"

She tensed briefly, before shaking her head.

Something fell from between the yellowed pages. It was a crumpled black and white aerial photograph of what looked like an overgrown earthen ring surrounding a stone-henge, one of hundreds that dotted Ireland. The words "Hunter's Moon" were scribbled in the corner with the same red ink.

"Molly's" eyes widened in recognition.

*

**The Giant's Ring, outside Belfast,** **November 4th**

Prof. Lydia Duane sat at her desk in the small tent just outside the dig-site. Slowly, meticulously and with painstaking care, she brushed a thin layer of dirt from the silver goblet. Gradually, she revealed the image of a four-armed female figure inscribed upon the chalice. Pausing only to occasionally sketch the designs into her notebook.

"Professor?"

Lydia looked over her shoulder to see a dark-skinned young woman standing in the opening of the tent, the soft orange light of the setting sun framing her form. "Oh, Lolade," Lydia greeted. "You startled me, dear."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Lolade cringed apologetically. "I'll leave you be."

"Don't be silly, dear." Lydia beckoned her closer. "In fact, I want to show you something. Do you recognize this figure?"

Lolade peered over the older woman's shoulder at the multi-armed goddess inscribed upon the chalice. "No…" she answered. "Should I?"

"I'd be shocked if you did," Lydia answered. "It's clearly meant to represent some sort of deity, yet it doesn't seem to resemble any Celtic goddess I'm familiar with? Unless…"

Both women were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I just wanted to say 'thank you', by the way." Lolade spoke, finally breaking the silence.

"Hmm…" Lydia cocked her head. "Whatever for, dear?"

"For letting me work here over the mid-term." Lolade answered.

"I should be thanking you," Lydia snorted. "I would have thought you'd rather spend the time with your family?"

"My mother and I…" Lolade sighed. "We don't see eye to eye, I haven't really talked to her since… Well, a long time."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear."

"It's alright, I'm used to it," Lolade shrugged. "I also wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Lydia asked, peering at the Ogham script inscribed upon the chalice.

"This," Lolade spoke as she jammed the prongs of her taser into Lydia's neck. The elder woman trashed in agony as electricity flowed through her body before passing into merciful unconsciousness.

*

The woman Lydia Duane had known as "Lolade" strode forth into the twilight. Dozens of armed figures clad in dark purple robes swarmed over the sacred site, securing it for their Goddess. They had precious little time to prepare.

Ailill's hulking figure lumbered past her, Dr. Arthur Morwood-Smyth's unconscious form slumped over his mammoth shoulders.

"Leave him in the tent with the other one," Locha ordered.

Ailill responded with a curt nod before lumbering on.

A distant whirring sound cut through the chill twilight air. Locha turned her head upward, where a jet-black helicopter was slowly descending upon the outskirts of the dig site. As the craft landed, over a dozen hooded cultists gathered to kneel before it. The black door slid back as a single occupant disembarked.

"Welcome…" Locha spoke, falling to her knees. "My Goddess."

*

The Hunter's Moon shone down upon the Giant's Ring as midnight drew ever closer, casting a silver-green shimmer upon the frost touched grass.

"I still don't see why we have to be out here doing busy work?" One hooded figure grumbled as he patrolled the outer extremities of the site.

"The Goddess commanded us to secure the perimeter," a second robed cultist answered coolly.

"Against what?" the first asked. "It the dead of the night of night and the middle of nowhere!"

"Perhaps you wish to bring your complaints to the Goddess Herself?"

The first went very very quiet.

"I thought not. Be patient, brother. After tonight we won't have to…" He suddenly tilted his hooded head.

"Won't have to what?"

"I thought I heard something…" the second whispered, creeping towards a nearby bush. He parted the branches cautiously with the barrel of his weapon before lowering it, seeing nothing but blackness beyond. "Must've been a fox or…"

Two crimson eyes suddenly blazed out of the darkness… and pounced.

*

Two hooded figures made their way quietly through the dig site. A shaggy orange-haired giant lumbered past them. They kept their hooded faces turned down in deference as he eyed them silently, before continuing on his own errands.

They came to a halt outside a darkened tent, taking a moment to peer over their shoulders before slipping inside. Within the tent an older woman and man dressed in khakis lay on the floor. Their limbs bound and their mouths gagged. The two captives writhed and attempted to scream through their gags as the hooded figures drew closer.

"Shhh… Relax," Rory Dugan whispered, drawing back the purple hood. "We're gonna get you out of here."

Molly stood watch by the tent flap in her own purloined purple robe, cautiously peering out into the darkness as Rory undid the archaeologist's bindings.

"Oh, thank you," the blonde bespectacled woman whispered. "They've all gone mad!"

"Can you two make it to the road from here?" Rory asked.

"I think so…"

"Good." Rory peeled back the tenth flap. "Follow it back to town and call the Guards."

"What about you two?" the other archaeologist, a mustachioed gentleman asked.

"We'll manage, just hurry," Rory reassured.

The two archaeologists slipped out silently, vanishing into the night. Once they were safely gone, Molly and Rory turned their attention to sifting through the tent's contents, seeking any clue to their adversary's intentions.

Molly began flipping through an old notebook filled with rough sketches of various artifacts. Her eyes froze on the sketch of a metal chalice inscribed with the image of a four-armed figure within an eight-pointed star. A cold shiver crept up her mortal body's spine.

"Uh… Molly?" Rory spoke.

She ignored him, totally lost in the notebook

"Molly!"

She looked up, a glare of irritation wavering as her eyes widened. Rory held his hands still above his head. Behind him loomed the shaggy orange haired giant from before. The giant's wrist mounted slingshot was held directly to the back of Rory's neck, ready to drive a grey tathlum directly into the young Ulsterman's skull.

Rory grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

*

The congregation of grim hooded cultists parted silently as Rory and Molly were force-marched to the center of the Giant's Ring's. There stood a low pile of flat stacked stones like the altar of some forgotten god. Upon it lay a clay tablet, an iron jar and a silver chalice filled with a strange glowing liquid.

A tall woman, clad in rich purple robes and live snow-white stoat perched upon her shoulders, stood before the make-shift altar with her back to the captives. The only distinguishing feature they could make out was her dark wine-red hair, broken by a single moon-white streak. By her side stood a younger woman in a similar though much less ornate robe.

"Kneel…" the tall woman spoke.

"I'm good standing, thanks," Rory snarked.

"Ailill?" she replied.

The shaggy haired giant struck Rory savagely from behind, causing him to collapse to his knees on the damp grass below. Molly gingerly lowered herself to her own knees.

"Two thousand years and still as insolent as ever, dog," the tall woman chuckled, turning to face her captives for the first time. "I'm glad."

While Molly's eyes widened in instant horrific recognition, Rory felt himself freeze in uncertainty. The tall woman's long pale face struck an unmistakable chord of familiarity in the depths of his soul. His mind racked itself to place a name to that visage, falling desperately short.

"Who are you?" Rory asked.

"You don't remember me?" she purred, bending down to look him straight in the eye. "But I remember you, dog. I remember how you stood between me and what was rightfully mine at every turn. I remember watching you die, bleeding like a stuck pig, before bringing your head back to Connacht in triumph."

Rory was silent for a moment, before a name rose to the surface of his thoughts like a bloated corpse…

"Maeve?"

Her lips curled upward in a cruel smirk as she clasped her hands together. "You see, my children? Even this dim creature can recognize Divinity when It stands before him!" She was answered by a wave of low rumbling laughter from the gathered cultists.

"What are you planning to do with the Silver Hand of Nuada?" Rory demanded, prompting the shaggy giant to strike him again.

"Why… nothing, I already have all I need right here," she purred, gesturing to the contents of the stone altar. "Retrieving the Silver Hand was simply a convenient way of getting your attention. Who do you think donated it to the Ulster Museum in the first place?"

"Why?" Rory demanded groggily.

"Because I wanted you here to see this, dog," she hissed, pointing to the strangely glowing elixir in the silver chalice. "The Blood of Lilith will transform me into an Avatar of the Winter Queen Herself! I shall become a True Goddess as I was always meant to be!"

Maeve let the purple robe fall from her shoulders as she turned back towards the altar, the white stoat hopping clear. Beneath, she wore a backless outfit of black leather, proudly displaying the large eight-pointed Star of Chaos tattooed between her shoulder blades in pale blue ink.

"That's all a needed to hear," Rory said before letting loose a loud high-pitched whistle.

Maeve spun back around, "What are you…"

Blinding emerald light filled Maeve's vision, blinding her momentarily. By the time her eyes readjusted, the pink-haired girl who had accompanied her hated enemy was gone. In her place was a pale-white, red-eared auroch heifer that rampaged through her cultists, dark stained horns gleaming in the moonlight.

"Impossible…" Maeve cried. "You should be on  _Tír na nÓg!_ "

At the same time, a bone-shaking howl pierced the night in answer to Rory's whistle. A coal-black beast bounded from the shadows, ploughing through the ranks of cultists as though they were made of sea foam before slamming into the shaggy giant holding Rory at sling-point.

That done, Barghest came running to Rory's side, dropping the yew-wood staff held in her jaws at her master's feet.

"Good, girl!" Rory petted the beast before striking the wooden staff against the ground, enveloping him in golden light and transforming him once more into Cú Chulainn; the Hero of Ulster reborn.

"Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!" Maeve shrieked. "Nothing must interfere with the Fulfillment Spell!" She turned to the altar with an imperious swirl, hands raised to the Hunter's Moon, chanting in some language Cú did not recognize. The glyphs inscribed upon the clay tablet began softly pulsing with blue light in time with her words.

Cú made a dash for the altar only to be body-slammed a few steps from the chanting Maeve by her shaggy-haired giant of a bodyguard. The silent brute wordlessly tackled Cú to the ground before Barghest leapt once more at the giant only to be swatted aside. Maeve's guard began choking the life from the young hero with his bare hands.

"You're... strong... abnormally so..." Cú hissed through his constricted windpipe before kneeing his attacker directly in the crotch, followed by a left hook to the jaw. "But I fight dirty."

At that moment, the clay tablet surged with power as Maeve's incantation reached its crescendo. Blue energy swirled about the silver chalice and its crimson contents as she took it in both hands. She glanced over her shoulder at Cú, grinning wickedly. "Bottom's up."

"NO!"

Before Cú could take another step, Maeve had already downed the Blood of Lilith. The night was still, all in attendance ceasing their battle for a single moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

"I don't understand... Why is nothing... AAARGH!" Maeve buckled to her knees, screaming in agony.

Eldritch light surged from her eyes and mouth, the Chaos Star tattooed upon her back glowing with the same unearthly energy. Winds as cold and icy and death itself swirled about her as she was lifted from the ground, suspended in mid-air.

Cú shielded his eyes as the cold pale light became painfully unbearable, only lowering his hand once it had subsided.

The creature floating above threw back her hair, snow-white save for a single blood-red streak, cackling with manic glee. Four slender spider-like arms protruded from her torso, streams of cold faery light flowing between and around them. Her skin was an icy corpse-like blue.

"My God..." Cú whispered as a cold chill pierced his bones.

" **Well said, dog,** " she spoke, not only with Maeve's voice but also another, much older and darker. " **Now, We are indeed your God!** "

_**To be Concluded...** _


	6. Winter Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Rory Dugan and Molly, AKA Cú Chulainn and the Banshee, as they protect Ireland from evils ancient and modern. Watch as they confront terrorists, shape-shifting warrior-kings, reincarnated god-queens and... each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Gryphinwrym7, Masterdramon, GregX and BookwyrmPendragon13 for providing beta-reading and feedback.

**The Giant's Ring, outside Belfast,** **November 5th, 1998 A.D.**

Cú Chulainn, Molly, Barghest and the assembled cultists all stared in awe and cold dread at the four-armed, ice-blue skinned Avatar. She floated high above the stone altar, chill winds and raw eldritch power flowing around her, through her... from her.

"What... What are you?" Cú whispered.

" **We are the Queen of All Things, Mistress of the Winter Court, Lord of Nightmares, the All-Mother! We are Danu** **, Gaia, Argante, Papahānaumoku and Lilith! We are Chaos Incarnate...** " twin voices hissed as she descended from the black sky, grass freezing beneath her feet with every step. " **We are Medb.** "

"Goddess!"

"Medb" turned her gaze towards the dark-skinned girl who prostrated herself upon the damp grass. The shaggy haired giant and remaining cultists followed suit.

"We await your command," the girl spoke.

Medb's gaze was cold and unloving. " **Meaningless chatter of meaningless lives.** "

"I... my Goddess?" the girl asked uncertainly.

" **What need does the shining moon in Her starry sky have for yelping of hounds? What need does a Goddess have for the worship of insects?** " Medb intoned, before launching a blast of eldritch energy upon the albino stoat skittering about her feet. " **Aisling, my dream, it's time for you to become... Our Nightmare.** "

The stoat begin writhing in agony as Medb's power flowed into it. Within a matter seconds its size doubled, then doubled again. White fur crystallized into a thick layer of hoary, armor-like frost. Limbs withered away as its already sinuous body became ever longer and more serpentine. Its beady red eyes withered into nothing. Only the mouth seemed to grow in proportion to the rest of its form, becoming a hideous fanged maw that gnashed hungrily.

All save Medb backed away as the titanic ice-worm raised its ill-shaped head and howled at the moon above. An instant later, it lunged forward, snapping up the nearest cultist and swallowing him in a single gulp.

" **Farewell, 'Heroes' of Ulster...** " Medb purred as she ascended once more into the sky above. Her gaze turned northward, where the distant glow of Belfast city peaked over the horizon, eye glinting with cold hatred as she disappeared into the night. " **We have business elsewhere.** "

Cú barely managed to dodge as the gigantic ice-worm lunged again, its massive jaws leaving a jagged crater in the earth. "Any ideas?" he asked, turning to Molly.

 _After her!_  Molly signed, pointing in the direction the crazed Avatar had fled.

"What about you?"

 _I'll be fine!_  Molly signed before turning towards the rampaging monster. Emerald faery light danced about her, growing with every step as her form rapidly shifted and grew.

Cú watched in horror as Molly's form was swiftly replaced by the grotesque, titan-maggot shape of Crom-Cruach; Lord of the Mound, Crooked One, Death-Worm. The gold cow-catcher like grill bolted to its slavering maw glinted wickedly in the moonlight as it coiled upright like a cobra and struck.

The entire dig site shuddered as Crom and the ice-worm's bodies collided. The twin monstrosities writhed and trashed violently as they coiled about each other, each hellbent upon crushing the life from the other.

"Come on, Girl!" Cú cried.

Barghest rushed to Cú's side, both running for the Lada concealed at the side of the road on the very outskirts of the Giant's Ring. Cú reverted to the form of Rory Dugan, opening the backdoor as the beast hopped in. He paused to look back over his shoulder.

The two abominations were still locked in horrific combat, countless cultist fleeing under their thread like ants. The ice-worm's fangs were sunk deep into Crom's oily maggot-like flesh as Crom's scorpion-like tail barb stabbed again and again into its foe's frozen hide.

"Godspeed, Molly," Rory whispered before slipping into the driver's seat.

*

**Liscoo, Co. Donegal**

"And forecast for tonight is clear skies over most of Ulster with cool but mild temperatures," the weatherman beamed before a flick of the remote wiped him from the television screen, leaving only grey blankness.

Sean Dugan laid the remote on the table with a sigh. He tried to tell himself to lack of news outside the usual slew of politics, mundane crime and celebrity gossip was a good sign. It meant nothing had gone wrong… yet.

Try as he might, it was an unconvincing argument. He was worried sick about his son. He was worried sick about Barghest. To his own surprise, he was even worried sick about Molly. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

Sean Dugan hadn't prayed in many years. Not since Rory's mother…

Something tapped softly on the window, then again, before building to a incessant patter. He rose from his armchair, pulling back the curtain.

"What the Devil?" he swore. An onslaught of large hailstones beat relentlessly on the glass as dark rolling storm-clouds carpeted the sky above.

He suddenly felt very, very cold.

*

**Knight Spur, London**

Arthur Pendragon pinched the bridge of nose as he slammed the ancient tome shut. He took a moment to gaze over the looming stack of leather-bound books still untouched. He rubbed his temples, feeling the early stages of a migraine bearing down on him.

"Alright, Your Majesty?" Griff asked from the other end of the long library table, carrying a fresh stack.

"Forgive me, Sir Griff. Despite Merlin's best efforts, I've never been much of a scholar. Shifting though old legends and fables, trying to extract one tangible fact…" Arthur sighed. "It sometimes feels like trying to pluck a single rain drop from the air."

"We have been hitting the books fairly hard since that business back in Glastonbury," Griff opined. "How 'bout a snack break?"

"A most welcome suggestion, Sir Griff," Arthur replied as he rose from his chair. "Perhaps young Liam still has some of that seafood… 'Gumbo' I believe he called it?"

As Arthur and Griff made their way downstairs to the kitchen, they paused just outside the ground floor Common Room, where an ancient eagle-beaked gargoyle and a young woman clad in green were watching the television intently.

"This is Kate Reed of the Dalriada Broadcasting Company, reporting from Belfast, Northern Ireland," the dark-skinned young woman on the screen shouted over howling winds. "Where a freak blizzard has blanketed the entire city in snow in a matter of hours! Emergency services are stretched to the breaking point as…" The feed suddenly cut off, only to be replaced by a rainbow colored test pattern.

A moment later the feed cut back to a pristine news studio, where the anchor shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well…" she began uncertainly. "We seem to have briefly lost touch with Kate due to… technical difficulties. In the meantime, let's take you to our satellite footage of the blizzard."

The screen shifted to an image of Ireland, where a pale white swirling mass had already blotted out all of Ulster with no sign of slowing down.

"Lord in Heaven," Arthur swore. "I have never seen a natural storm grow so quickly?"

"That's no natural storm," Pog grumbled.

Fluer's eyes narrowed. " _Imbéciles_ ," she whispered softly to herself.

*

**Castle Carbonek**

Upon a shimmering screen, the ever-growing blizzard showed no sign of abating as two figures watched silently. One was young, handsome, almost angelic. The second was hulking and clad in a green hooded robe. The left side of his face was a mass of cybernetics.

"I admit," Two spoke, furrowing what remained of his brow. "I had hoped the experiment would be somewhat more… controlled."

"We knew the risks," One sighed. "Contact O'Malley."

*

**Belfast, Northern Ireland**

Medb floated high above the frozen city skyline, suspended in the very eye of the storm. She was practically drunk on the sight of the destruction unfolding below her. Soon, all of Ulster would be reduced to nothing but a frozen wasteland. After two millennia, every indignation, humiliation and violation its people ever visited on her would be finally avenged.

She tilted her head off to one side as a streak of shimmering golden light whizzed inches past her face. Her head turned a full 180 degrees as she followed  _Gáe Bolga's_  arc across the sky before it returned to the waiting hand of its master, standing defiantly upon a nearby rooftop.

She smiled wickedly as she floated down towards him, her body twisting back into place beneath her. " **Well, well…** " she purred with two voices. " **You are bold.** "

"Yeah? Well… I could say the same 'bout you!" Cú boasted, brandishing his spear high and hoping he looked more intimidating than he felt.

" **Oh but We have just cause for** _ **Our**_ **confidence, dog. After all…** " Medb's lips peeled back into a rictus grin, farther than any human flesh should have been able to contort. " **We've killed you before.** "

Cú let lose a blood-curdling war-cry as he charged forward. He raised his spear high as he lept from the rooftop, ready to strike down his foe with a single blow.

Medb raised a single hand and Cú suddenly froze in mid-air,  _Gáe Bolga's_  glowing tip mere inches from her face. " **And that was before We could do this…** " She flicked her wrist, sending Cú flying across the Belfast skyline.

The freezing winds cut at Cú's flesh like icy talons as he hurtled through the air. He screwed his eyes closed tight and braced for impact as the frozen asphalt below rose rapidly to meet him.

Then… nothing.

Cú opened his eyes to find himself floating little over a foot above the frosted street. "The Hell…?" he mouthed soundlessly.

" **You didn't really think We'd let you off that easy, did you?** "

Just as abruptly, Cú found himself unceremoniously dumped on the cold ground. He staggered to his hands and knees as Medb descended to meet him, shards of twisting ice sprouting from the street where her feet touched.

" **We wish you could feel what We feel, dog. Hear what We hear…** " Medb hissed. " _ **Her**_ **thoughts are like shattered diamonds… beautiful… brilliant… broken!** "

 _Gáe Bolga_  had fallen about a few feet from Cú's fingertips, glowing softly in the snow where it lay between himself and the insane Avatar. He lunged forward, hand reaching desperately for the weapon. Before he could grasp it, a spear of solid ice materialized out of thin air, embedding itself deep in his abdomen. He fell to his knees screaming, clutching the bloody freezing weapon.

" **Bad dog!**   **Mother must punish you..."** Medb chastised, wagging a single finger. **"Change!** "

Cú reeled as a wave a fresh agony racked his body. It felt as though his very bones were being forcibly yanked out of their natural configuration. His flesh become like wet clay being reshaped by invisible hands. He looked down to see his fingers wither into stubby clawed toes and shaggy dusky-red fur creep across his pink skin. Screams of pain devolved into pitiful howls.

Medb glared down at the Irish wolfhound that lay quivering in the snow at her feet, a bloody gash still in its side, before it lunged at her with fangs bared.

" **Filthy cur!** " she bellowed, striking the dog aside. " **If you still haven't learned your lesson…"**  She raised all four of her hands, a swirling vortex of eldritch energy gathering between her palms. " **Then Die.** "

A raging howl pierced the air. Medb spun round to see Barghest's coal-black form pouncing upon her. The Avatar let loose all her pent up mystical might, only for the cold eldritch flames to wash harmlessly across the gargate's leathery hide like water from a duck's wing.

" **WHAT!?** " Medb screamed as Barghest's fangs sunk deep into her shoulders, then she simply screamed.

Meanwhile, the injured wolfhound painfully dragged itself across the street to where  _Gáe Bolga_  lay. No sooner had it laid a paw across the Spear of Light, then it had reverted to the form of Rory Dugan. Rory staggered to his feet, using his yew-wood staff as a crutch as he clutched his wounded side with his free hand.

Medb trashed violently as Barghest only tightened the vice-like grip upon the Avatar's ice blue flesh. " **Why. Won't. You. DIE!?** " she shrieked as she hurled one impotent enchantment after another at the beast.

"GIRL, GET CLEAR!"

Barghest suddenly released her prey as Medb's vision was dazzled by a flash of golden light. Before the Winter Queen's eyes could adjust, Cú Chulainn struck, driving  _Gáe Bolga_  through her abdomen.

" **IDIOT! W** **HAT HAVE YOU DONE!?** " Medb shrieked as she stared down at her wound, which bled not mortal blood but a swirling surge of eldritch energy that only seemed to grow with every second. " _ **Her**_ **power… it's too much… too fast…** "

Blinding light filled the street as Cú found himself once more hurled across the air before crashing through the glass front of a camping store. He must have blacked out momentarily because the next thing he knew, he had reverted once more to the form of Rory Dugan, Yew-wood staffed clutched tightly in hand.

Rory hobbled from the window, leaning on the wooden staff. The street was empty. The winds died down as the skies above began to clear. He looked down to see his side caked in blood.

Barghest burst forth from a nearby pile of rubble before bounding to Rory's side, whining pitiably at the sight of him.

"It's okay, girl... I just need to…" Rory groaned weakly as he tried to step forward only to fall to his knees again, his breathing labored. "I… I might need your help with something."

Rory wasn't entirely sure why he did what he did next. Perhaps it was simple pride or… something deeper, more primal. In that moment, all he knew was that he could not let himself die on his knees. Fetching a coil of rope from the broken storefront and leaning on Barghest, he slowly hobbled towards the nearest lamp-post still standing. With the last of his strength, he braced his back against the cold metal before binding himself upright.

It was only then, that Rory Dugan finally allowed merciful oblivion to claim him. The last thing he remembered hearing was Barghest's mournful howls. And the last thing he remembered seeing was a night black crow descending upon him from out of the cold grey skies.

*

_**Nowhere** _

_Rory found himself floating in a black infinite void, drifting aimlessly for what seemed like an eternity. He was uncertain if he was alive or dead. He was uncertain if he even cared._

Rory…

" _Wh… whu…?" he mumbled back into the void._

_A faint speck of light floated out of the abyss, like an ember in the night. As it drew closer, Rory began making out its shape. It was a tiny golden mayfly, wings shimmering like solid sunlight._

Rory… you cannot die here…

" _Who are you…?" he asked weakly_

_The mayfly erupted in a burst of golden light, and in its place stood an exact mirror image of Rory Dugan._

"You… you're… me…?"

_Another flash and Rory's doppelganger was replaced by an armoured knight. A green girdle was wound twice around his waist and a silver pentacle inscribed upon his shield._

I am the Maiden's Knight… the Hawk of May…

_Again, the light. Again, the form shifted; this time to one Rory found very familiar. It was a warrior clad in golden helm and crimson cloak, Spear of Light in hand._

The Hound of the Forge… the Hero of Ulster…

" _Cú… Chulainn…?"_

_One final time the light enveloped the form. Yet this time it did not subside, but grew and grew until it seemed to fill the void. At its center, stood a titanic radiant warrior with three noble faces resting upon his head. Three faces that seemed to resemble Rory's own._

Long-Arm… Master of All Arts…

_The Light continued to grow until Rory could no longer bear to look at it._

But above all else, Rory Dugan… I am you.

*

**Royal Victoria Hospital, Belfast,** **November 8th**

"Father!" Rory cried, waking with a start. He winced in pain as he felt his wounds shift under the weight of his bandages. Calloused hands gently ease him back into his bed.

"It's alright, Rory… I'm here," the voice of Sean Dugan hushed. "We're all here."

Rory looked about, finding himself in a spartan hospital room. His father sat to one side of the bed, a concerned Barghest lay attentively by his side. On the other side sat a pensive Molly.

"What happened?" Rory groaned.

"You took a bad tumble," his father offered. "You might have frozen to death lying out there if Molly hadn't found you."

"Really?" Rory asked as he turned his head.

Molly signed curtly.  _You're welcome._

Before Rory could get another word in, Barghest half-clambered onto the bed and began slobbering joyously all over his face.

"GAAGH!" Rory practically squealed. "Down, girl!"

"Ahem!"

All four turned in unison towards the door, where an older dark-skinned woman in a doctor's coat and pale green hijab was eyeing them intently. "I'm afraid the hospital has a strict 'no pets' policy," she spoke with a slight Nigerian accent.

"She's not a pet!" Sean stammered. "She's my… seeing eye dog! Yes! Blind as a bat without her!"

Barghest tilted her head to stare at the elder Dugan quizzically.

The doctor cocked a sceptical eyebrow.

"No… I wasn't buying it either," Sean sighed. "Come on, girl. Dawn's not that far off anyway." He gave Rory's hand a brief squeeze before leaving the room, a reluctant gargoyle beast in tow.

Rory watched the two leave before he felt something tap upon his shoulder. He turned towards Molly.

She signed.  _He was worried about you, We all were._

Rory smirked. "I didn't think you cared?"

Molly responded by hurling her seat cushion at him.

"I deserved that," Rory conceded. "Molly… During the fight, Maeve tried to use her magic on Barghest but… nothing happened?"

_Our Lord's Law protects her kin._

"Well, that's not cryptic at all," Rory opined. "What about Maeve?"

She shook her head.

Rory's expression darkened. "You think she's still alive?"

Molly gave no reply, her hands still as she turned to look out over the Belfast skyline. The first pale rays of dawn were already starting to creep over the horizon.

*

**R** **athcroghan, Co. Roscommon**

Maeve lay upon her bed, eyes staring blankly at the empty ceiling. Locha sat quietly by her side, moving only to check the IV drip or wipe away the drool that occasionally gathered at the corners of her Goddess's lips.

"I am sorry for your loss."

Locha turned to be greeted by a sight that made her heart stop for an instant.

The intruder was a tall statuesque woman, clad in a long black leather duster, with a thoroughly shaved bald head. Upon her hand she wore a single gold ring. Her eyes fixed Locha with a gaze that was as cold and grey as the sea.

"Who are you?" Locha demanded, reaching for the stone dagger concealed within her purple robes.

"That would be bloody unwise, child," the intruder spoke, drawing back the duster to reveal the holstered particle pistol and sheathed cutlass that hung from her belt. She padded to the bedside, lowering to one knee. She moved like a shark, full of predatory grace and controlled power.

"I am sorry, my friend," the bald woman whispered softly. "I wish I could have been there for you."

"You… you are the 'Partner'?"

"I'm family, of a sort." The intruder inclined her head. "Call me… Grace."

"She was supposed to heal this world, we were going to turn this island into a paradise…" Locha sighed. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

Grace placed her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "It doesn't have to."

"What do you mean?" Locha asked, noticing for the first time the symbol inscribed upon Grace's gold ring; an singe eye perched atop the apex of a pyramid.

"I represent a society of... Enlightened individuals who share your mistress' dream of restoring balance to this world…" Grace's voice dropped to a deathly whisper. "By returning Queen Mab to Her rightful throne."

Locha's eyes widened. "Is… Is that even possible?"

"It will not be easy," Grace intoned. "And there is a price."

"Name it!"

Grace's gaze turned to the Silver Hand of Nuada, mounted upon the wall opposite the bed. "That should do... For now."

Locha looked down into her Goddess' empty soulless eyes. It was little enough to ask.

Maeve herself had already given so much…

*

**Co. Donegal,** **October 30th, 1984 A.D.**

_He stood before her, lifeless body bound to the upright stone slab. Blood ran in crimson streams from his wounds. The crow upon his cold shoulder eyed her cryptically for a moment before taking to the skies, leaving the corpse unmolested._

_She pulled his head back by his dusky red hair and stared into his cold dead eyes. Some shade of familiarity seemed to dance about his empty features. She shook it from her mind… before drawing her sword._

She awoke as from a nightmare, the way people do only in reality. Her eyes snapped open. Her body became as still and tense as bow string, afraid to move or even make a sound.

It was the sound of her husband snoring beside her, slow and steady as the tide, that brought her back to reality. Any other night it would have irritated her but right now, it helped anchor her. It grounded her in sanity.

She slipped quietly into the bathroom, thankful her husband was such a heavy sleeper. A splash of cold water did little to wash the image from her mind's eye, that poor young man bloodied and dead. It wasn't the vision of his mutilated body that most disturbed her, or the odd familiarity of his features. No, it was the emotion that had surged through her during the dream…

Satisfaction.

Her dream-self had butchered that poor bastard, and had the gall to be proud of it.  _She_  had been proud of it. It wasn't real… none of it was real. She dried her face, quietly closing the bathroom door behind her. She paused outside her son's bedroom, its door slightly ajar. She padded softly across the room with silent cat-like steps, coming to a rest at his bedside. His breath was soft and light as he slept. She reached out to gently stroke his tuft of dusk red hair.

_She pulled his head back, drawing her sword._

The next thing she knew, she was recoiling back from the bed, desperately choking down a scream. Her son quietly mumbled something unintelligible, before rolling over and drifting deeper into sleep.

Ten minutes later found her quietly rolling the car down the driveway, the hand-break off. It wasn't until she was passed the gate that she dared turn the ignition. She looked back one last time, her gaze resting on the window of her son's bedroom.

"Goodbye… Rory," Siobhán Dugan whispered, before disappearing into the night.

_**Never the End…** _


End file.
